"It's such an awful thing for a person to have fits. If I'd known that I should not have pitched him over the fence last night. Of course, he's a rotter, and a blighter, and a nuisance; but he's weak, and I shouldn't have treated him so roughly. I only hope," said Cyril gloomily, "that it wasn't the fall I gave him which brought about this beastly fit." "You can be quite sure of that," said Bella sharply; "in fact," she hesitated, then spoke out boldly, "I don't believe he had a fit." "My dearest girl, he said so himself, according to Mrs. Block." "I know he did, as Dora told me. And that makes me the more certain of his connection with the murder of my father. I suppose I must call Captain Huxham my father until I am certain of the truth of what Mr. Pence said." "I don't know what you are talking about," said Cyril, stopping to stare at the down-cast, flushed face under the black hat. "Why should Pence tell a lie about his fall?" "Because he didn't want anyone to know that Durgo had thrown him down." Cyril stared harder. "Would you mind explaining?" he said politely, "I still cannot understand your meaning." "I don't know that I understand myself," she replied nervously. "The fact is, Cyril, I believe that Durgo threw Mr. Pence down when he refused to give up those papers." "What papers?" asked Lister, still bewildered. "The papers which tell the truth about me." "But, my dear girl, that is all supposition. We don't know if any papers exist, after all. Pence may have spoken at random." "You believed that he spoke the truth." "I did. I want to believe, as only by learning that you are not Captain Huxham's daughter can we marry," said Cyril dismally; "but the wish is father to the thought, in my case." "Well," said Bella, plunging into her confession, "you had better ask Durgo if he assaulted Mr. Pence last night." "Why should he?" "I asked him to." Cyril, who had walked on, stopped once more and stared. "You asked him to?" "Yes." Bella was less nervous now. "I told him all that Mr. Pence said, and suggested that he should get the papers." Cyril's face grew stern, as she knew it would. "Tell me everything that passed between you and that nigger." "I have not said that I saw him," said Bella evasively. "You could scarcely have asked him to assault Pence, unless you had seen him," retorted Cyril, who looked displeased, "come, be frank. Tell me all." Bella did so, omitting nothing, although she every now and then stole a glance at Cyril's compressed lips and corrugated brow. At the end of her explanation he looked up, and his eyes were hard. "You have acted very wrongly," he said sternly. "I know I have: I admit as much," said the girl penitently, "but, after all, I only asked him to get the papers. I did not tell him to hurt Mr. Pence." Cyril shook his head impatiently. "You should not have seen this infernal nigger. I don't like any white woman to talk to niggers."