"Confound it, man, don't be so flippant! I've had bad news, I tell you. My father,"--here Larcher gulped down his emotion with some difficulty--"my father was murdered!" "Murdered!" repeated Tait, looking aghast, as well he might. "Yes! And my mother was accused of having murdered him. There you have it." It was some little time before Tait could face the skeleton so unexpectedly produced from the Larcher cupboard. Hitherto his acquaintance with crime had been mainly derived from fiction after the style of John Parver, or from the columns of the press; but now he was brought face to face with a tragedy indirectly connected with his dearest friend, and naturally enough did not like the situation. Nevertheless, like the wise little man he was, he made no comment on the truth so suddenly blurted out, but pushed his friend into a comfortable chair, and proposed breakfast. "Breakfast!" cried Claude, clutching his hair; "I could not eat a morsel. Have you no feelings, you little monster, to propose breakfast to me, after hearing such hideous news. Why don't you give me sympathy, and try and help me, instead of sitting at your confounded rasher of bacon like a graven image." "I'll do all in my power later on," said Tait quietly; "but you are upset by this news, and no wonder. Try and eat a little, then you can tell me all about it, and I'll give you the best advice in my power." Thus adjured, Claude drew in his chair, and managed to eat a morsel of toast and drink a cup of coffee, after which he lighted his pipe, and smoked furiously, while Tait, anxious that his friend should regain his self-control, made a lengthened meal, and talked of divers matters. Breakfast over, he also filled his favorite pipe, and, drawing a chair close to that of Larcher's, waited for an explanation. "Well, Claude," said he, after a pause, during which the other showed no disposition to speak, "tell me your trouble." "I have told you," grumbled Larcher angrily; "if you want to know any more about it, read those papers." "It would take too long, and, as it happens, I am already tired with reading. Tell me about the affair as shortly as possible, and then we can go through the papers together. You say your father was murdered. Who committed the crime?" "No one knows! The criminal is still at large." "After five-and-twenty years he is likely to remain so." "No!", cried Larcher vehemently, striking the table; "I'll hunt him down, and find him out, and put a rope round his neck, so help me God!" "You say your mother was accused of the crime," said Tait, ignoring this outburst. "Yes. But she was acquitted on the evidence of my father's valet. Shortly afterward she died in London. I don't wonder at it," said poor Claude distractedly; "the shame, the disgrace! If she survived she was bitterly punished. I should like to see the man who would dare to asperse her memory."