"Don't say anything more, Clarice," interrupted the vicar, looking an untidy but pathetic figure. "My son is dead, and I never wish to hear his name mentioned again. As he has sown so has he reaped, and I hope that God will have mercy upon his soul." "How did he die?" "No! no! Say no more," cried Mr. Clarke, and before Clarice could apologise, he hurried from the room. Clarice was puzzled. Frank was dead, and--strange to say--the vicar seemed glad that he was dead. Frank, undoubtedly, was a prodigal son, but his father had always condoned his follies and rascalities. Yet, apparently, at the eleventh hour Frank had done something which even the lenient parent could not forgive. Clarice did not wish to know what the deed was. She had quite enough troubles of her own, without thinking of those of other people. Still, the attitude and wild words of Mr. Clarke astonished her not a little. Prudence came in, looking almost as ill as her father had done. The girl was tall, handsome, and dark, with a cool, confident manner, and with a considerable fund of common sense. But she appeared very sick and very ill at ease, and accepted the kiss of her old friend in a mechanical way, which provoked Clarice into speech. "You don't seem very pleased to see me, Prudence?" "I am," said Prudence, in a dull, heavy voice; "if you had not come to me, I should have called at The Laurels. I want help." "You shall have it," said Clarice, impetuously. "Whatever is the matter? Is it your brother's death?" "Yes--that is one thing. Father is worried about that, but there is something else. If I explain myself to you, you must promise me never to speak of what I say to anyone." "No, I won't," said Clarice, struck by her earnestness, and wondering what fatal secret was about to be unfolded. "Is it something that Ferdy has done?" "Don't speak of Ferdy--don't speak of him. My poor, darling boy. I'll never see him again--never--never--never." A wild fear was in Clarice's heart. "Prudence!" she exclaimed, catching the girl's arm; "has Ferdy been doing anything wrong?" "No. Ferdy is all that can be desired, but I can never marry him." "Why not?" "Because," said Prudence, in a solemn manner, "if I marry Ferdy, my father will be accused of murdering Mr. Horran." CHAPTER XV THE VICAR'S TROUBLES