Lovel undid the bundle rapidly, and there lay before him a neat silver-plated pistol, the weapon, as he knew without being told, with which Milly had been killed. As in the case of the incriminatory revolver of Dr. Lester, produced by Miss Clyde, there was a name on the butt. "Francis Chaskin" was the name. "So he killed her, after all!" cried Lovel, and handed the weapon to Paul, with a fierce light in his eyes. "Aye, aye; 'tis so," mumbled gran, wetting her dry lips. "I was at the stile when mun fired the pistol." "Did you see him fire it?" asked Paul. "Did you see him kill the girl?" "No," replied Mrs. Jimboy, "but I seed him on the common afore I came to the stile. He walked to the lane, an' I hears the shot. When I got to that stile, I see nothing but the dead maid. After I sees summat bright on the ground twinkle-twinkle in the moonlight. 'Twas yon pistol, dearie; an' I picked it up an' run back to my tent quick as my old legs could carry me. "Did you think Chaskin was the murderer at that time?" "No, dearie; only when I saw the name o' mun on the pistol. I told that gude maid that she would goo down to the grave." "And you thought that Herne had killed her," said Paul, sternly. "Oh, you need not look so astonished, Mrs. Jimboy. I know you wrote a letter to Mr. Herne telling him that his promised wife was to meet Lovel on Sunday night." "Ees," said gran, in a hard voice; "I wrote; 'twas I as brought mun down." "You!" cried Lovel, aghast. "In heaven's name, why?" "For your sweet sake, dearie," whimpered the old woman. "You be bone o' my bone an' flesh o' my flesh; an' you hev nowt o' goold, poor lamb! 'Tis my wish as you'd wed wi' Mistress Clyde, an' hev lands an' money. But that dead maid was witchly, and was drawin' your heart into the net o' mun. I thought as t'Squoire, seeing her wickedness, would take her fro' you, for religion's sake, an' wed her, so it might be she'd tempt ye no more; an' he could save the soul o' mun fro' the burnin' pit." "You are a wicked old woman," said Lovel, vehemently. "By bringing Herne down you brought about the death of Milly." "No, dearie, no. 'Twas passon killed her. T'Squoire did nowt, dear heart. For your good I told mun o' his maid's bad doings." "Gran," said Paul--for Lovel was too angered to speak--"you prophesied a violent death to Miss Lester. Did you make that prophecy knowing that she would be killed within twenty-four hours?" "Eh, dearie, I know'd not when she would be killed. But fair maids wi' fierce lovers had best be wary, an' I thought if t'Squoire knew o' her wickedness, he might hev anger wi' her." "In other words, you brought down Herne in the hope that he might fulfil your prophecy, and kill Milly," cried Lovel. "You are a wicked old Jezebel, and, blood or no blood, I shall have nothing to do with you!"