"Yet you let Stephen be assaulted," said Herrick, "his death would have ruined the life of Ida just the same." "I did not know about the assault until after it was committed," said Corn quickly, "then Santiago--but I cannot tell you the story in scraps like this. Better let me tell you all about myself, and what led to my present weakness. Then you will appreciate what I have gone through." Herrick nodded, "it is best so. Go on. You can safely confide in me, Corn. I only retain the right to use such information as may clear up the mystery of this murder." Corn seized his arm. "You will not tell about Mrs. Marsh?" he panted. "Not without consulting you. Be certain Corn that I am too true a friend to Stephen, to do anything harmful to him. But there is much at stake and I must be allowed to use my own judgment. You can rely on me." "I am sure of that," said the clergyman in admiration, "you are a strong-willed man. I was strong myself once--in a way. But my crime----" "Crime! I thought you had not killed Carr." "No," said Corn in a low voice, "But I have the blood of a fellow creature on my hands for all that," and he buried his face in his hands. "I judge no man," said Herrick after a pause, "but do not tell me anything that may render it difficult for me to keep sacred your confidence." "Oh, there is nothing you need fear from that," replied Corn drearily. "It was an accident. Wait till I recover myself." The man took a turn up and down the room. After five minutes he resumed his seat and spoke composedly. "My name is not Corn," he began, "Langham is my name--Francis Langham. I was in the army." "So Bess Endicotte said," nodded Herrick. Corn smiled faintly. "Yes! I let that slip one day, when she was talking of my looking like a soldier. But she does not know my real name. No one does save the Bishop who gave me this living. Ah! he was a good man. He is dead now. But I have to thank him for saving my reason and my life." "How was that?" asked Herrick settling himself. "I was quartered in the West Indies," said Corn after a pause, "and I there had a friend, who joined about the same time as I did. I need not tell you his name or the number of my regiment. All you need know is the simple story of my misery. My friend and I were always together; they called us David and Jonathan in the regiment. Well," here Corn nerved himself to a tremendous effort, "we were out shooting ducks. We were parted amongst the reeds on the borders of the lake. I thought I saw the brown back of a duck through some reeds. Without thinking I fired, and--I killed my friend! Oh, my God!"