It was a pleasant house enough, standing alone, apart from the village, a little way back from a loop of road that skirted a patch of open green. As we came in at the front gate, I caught an instant's glimpse of a pale face at an upper window, and before we could reach the drawing-room door Miss Claire Peytral had met us. She was a young lady of singular beauty, which the plain signs of violent grief and anxiety very little obscured. Her complexion, of a very delicate ivory tinge, was scarcely marred by the traces of sleeplessness and tears that were nevertheless clear to see. Her eyes were large and black, and her jetty hair had a slight waviness that was the only distinct sign about her of the remote blend of blood from an inferior race. "Oh, Mr. Hewitt," she cried, "I am so glad you have come at last! I have been waiting--waiting so long! And my poor mother is beginning to suspect!" "You have not told her, then?" "No, it will kill her when she knows, I'm sure--kill her on the spot. I have only said that father is ill at--at Redfield. Oh, what shall I do?" The poor girl seemed on the point of breakdown, and Hewitt spoke sharply and distinctly. "What you must do is this," he said. "You must attend to me, and tell me all I want to know as accurately and as tersely as you can. In that case I will do whatever I can, but if you give way you will cripple me. It all depends on you, remember. This is my intimate friend, Mr. Brett, who is good enough to offer to help us. Now, first, I think I know the heads of the case, from the newspapers, and, more especially, from your coachman. But when you sent for me, no doubt you had some definite idea or intention in your mind. What was it?" "Oh, he is innocent, Mr. Hewitt--he is, really! The only friend I have in the world--the only friend we all have!" "Steady--steady," Hewitt said, pressing her kindly and firmly into a seat. "You _must_ keep steady, you know, if I am to do anything. I expected that would be your belief. Now tell me why you are so sure." "Mr. Hewitt, if you knew him you wouldn't ask. He would never injure my poor father--he went out after him purely out of kindness, because I was uneasy. He would never hurt him, Mr. Hewitt, never, never! I can't say it strongly enough--he never would! Oh! my poor father, and now----"