But what most perplexed the girl was the reason why the lawyer called to see her father on the subject and requested her silence. She knew nothing of the tragedy save through the papers--those old, faded papers, dated 1866, which she had found in the garret. She was not born when the murder took place, so Hilliston could not possibly wish to close her mouth for her own sake. It was on her father's account that Jenny feared. What could he know of an obscure crime perpetrated in a country town so many years ago; she could recall no mention of his name in the report of the trial; yet his words led her to suspect that he was more closely connected with that tragic past than he chose to admit. Could it be that her father was a relative of Jeringham, and, knowing that Jeringham was still alive, wished to stop all inquiries made as to his whereabouts, lest he should be punished for his early sin? This was the only feasible suggestion she could make, and yet it failed to satisfy her too exacting mind. Again, there was Kerry. Kerry certainly had a personal interest in the case; else he could scarcely have related the episode of the scarfpin. Moreover, he had been very angry when he found her with the papers in her possession; and putting these two things together it would seem as if he knew more than he chose to tell. Jenny thought, for the gratification of her own curiosity, she would ask Kerry to explain these matters; and so went to the kitchen in search of him. Maria was there, cross and deaf as usual, and intimated that Kerry had been out some two hours on a message. This sounded extraordinary to Jenny, who knew that the old servant rarely left the house; but it argued that her father was anxious to have him out of the way during the visit of Hilliston. What did it all mean? A horrible fear seized the girl, lest she should have set some machinery in motion which would end in crushing her unhappy father. Unhappy he had always been, and given to seclusion. There must be some reason for this, and Jenny felt a vague alarm, which she could neither express nor display. Dearly enough had she paid for meddling with that old bundle of papers. Again she returned to the garden, and went outside into the lane in order to see if Kerry was in sight. In a few minutes he came shuffling round the corner, and his withered face relaxed into a grin when he saw her standing by the gate. She was the apple of his eye, and though he scolded her often himself, yet he never let anyone say a word against her. To look askance at Jenny was to lose Kerry's favor and win his enmity forever. "Ah! there ye are, me darling Miss Jenny," he said, with the familiarity of an old servant, "watching and waiting for poor old Kerry. Sure it is a sunbeam you are in this dark lane." "Kerry! I want to speak to you."