"You must answer," said Bella firmly. "I must share your griefs as well as sorrows. Tell me everything. Go on, Cyril, tell me quickly!" "Hush!" Lister started to his feet with an alarmed look. "What's that? I swear that I heard a rustling in the underwood. Someone is listening." He glanced around anxiously, looking pale and nervous. Bella rose at the same time and caught his hand to give him courage, although she could not understand what he meant by his words and looks. But the two had not to wait long. A distant crackling was heard, and in a moment or so a tall bulky man stepped from out the underwood. "Durgo!" breathed Bella, recognising the negro. He ran towards Cyril and dropped on his knees. "My master!" he cried; then leaped up. "You are not Edwin Lister," he growled with widely open eyes. "My father! my father!" groaned Cyril in despair. "I knew it; I was certain of it. Now I know the worst," and he sat down to hide his face. CHAPTER XII CYRIL'S STORY Bella looked from the astonished Durgo to the despairing Lister, and wondered what the scene meant. That the matter at issue was serious Cyril's demeanour gave her fully to understand. But what the matter might be she could not guess, save that it had something to do with this mysterious double who had caused all the commotion. The negro appeared to be as puzzled as herself, and stared at the seated figure with an open mouth, scratching his woolly head meanwhile. "Not my master, but like my master," he muttered, staring hard, and speaking in his usual guttural manner but not in the usual negro dialect, so rude and clipped. "If you're not my master, Edwin Lister," he added, addressing himself to the young man, "who are you, sir?" "Answer him, Cyril," said Bella, seeing that her lover did not speak. "Did you ever see this man before?" Lister looked up, pale and hollow-eyed. "Never," he said briefly. "Did you ever meet Mr. Lister before?" Bella asked the negro. "Lister! Lister!" gasped Durgo, retreating a step. "Is this young gentleman called Lister?" "Cyril Lister," said that young man. "But my master had no son." "I am his son. Edwin Lister is my father." "Oh!" A sudden light broke over Bella's face, and she clapped her hands. "And your double?" "Yes," said Cyril in low tones; "now you can guess how afraid I was to lay my suspicions before you." "No," she said boldly. "Why you should be afraid I cannot guess." Cyril rose slowly, laid two heavy hands on her shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. "My dear," he said in a hard voice, "can you not understand that this double was my father, who resembled me so closely that this man"--he jerked back his head towards the still staring negro--"mistook me for him." "Well," said Bella, inquiringly. "Well," repeated Lister, impatiently, "You thought that I had committed the murder, but now that you know the truth----"