"I do not think you need, Cicely," he answered. "I went to your father's room that night beyond a doubt, but I never raised my hand against him. I should have very hard work to prove it, I fancy, but I am wholly innocent of his death--innocent, that is to say, so far as any direct action of mine was concerned." She drew a long deep breath of relief. Then she looked up to him with a beautiful smile. "Douglas," she said, "I was sure of it, yet it is a great weight from my heart to hear you say so. Now, can you take me somewhere where we can talk? I am afraid of the streets. I will tell you why afterwards." He called a hansom and handed her in. After a moment's hesitation he gave the address of the restaurant where he had first met Rice. "It is only a shabby little place," he explained to her, apologetically, "but we can talk there freely." "Anywhere," she answered; "how strange it seems to be here--in London with you." There was a sense of unreality about it to him, but he only laughed. "Now tell me about Joan." She hesitated. "It will not be pleasant." "I do not deserve that it should be," he answered gravely. "She has always been quite sure that it was not you who was killed in the railway accident. She even imbued me with that belief." "Her instinct there, at any rate, was true enough," he answered. "She also believes," Cicely continued, more slowly, "that you robbed and murdered Father." Douglas shivered. It was hard even now to recall that night unmoved. "Well?" "She has made up her mind that you are in London, and that sooner or later she will find you." "And if she does?" "She has been to Scotland Yard. They will arrest you." The cab pulled up with a jerk, and a commissionaire threw open the apron. Douglas handed his companion out, and they entered the restaurant together. In a distant corner they found a table to themselves, and he ordered dinner. "Well, we are safe from Joan here for a little time, at any rate," he said, laughing. "Are you living with her, then?" Cicely nodded. "Yes. We have left the farm. There was very little money, you know, after all, and Joan and I will have to take situations. At present we are living upon our capital in the most shameful way. I am afraid she is completely absorbed by one idea--it is horrible." "It is odd that she should be so vindictive," he said, wearily. Cicely shrugged her shoulders. She was intensely interested in the little brown pot of soup which the waiter had brought them. "Joan is very peculiar," she said. "When I think of her I feel like a doll. She is as strong as steel. I think that she cared for you, Douglas, and, putting aside everything else, you behaved shamefully to her."