This was said with a smile, and had the effect to keep the peace. McBrain, however, had all the modesty of knowledge, and was never disposed to show off his superior attainments in the faces of those who might be supposed to know less than himself. Nor was he, by any means, certain of his fact; though greatly inclined to believe that both the skeletons were those of females. The heat had been so powerful as to derange, in some measure, if not entirely to deface, his proofs; and he was not a man to press a fact, in a case of this magnitude, without sufficient justification. All he now wanted, was to reserve a point that might have a material influence hereafter, in coming to a correct conclusion. It was fully an hour before Dunscomb returned, bringing Mary Monson on his arm. John followed the latter closely, for, though not admitted to the room in which this long private conference had been held, he had not ceased to pace the gallery in front of its door during the whole time. Dunscomb looked very grave, and, as McBrain thought, and he was very expert in interpreting the language of his friend’s countenance, disappointed. The girl herself had evidently been weeping, and that violently. There was a paleness of the face, and a tremor in the frame, too, that caused the observant physician to suppose that, for the first time, she had been made to comprehend that she was the object of such dire distrust. No sooner were the two in their old seats, than the coroner prepared to renew the suspended examination. “Witness,” repeated that functionary with marked formality, “what is your name?” The answer was given in a tremulous voice, but with sufficient readiness, as if previously prepared. “I am known, in and around Biberry, by the name of Mary Monson.” The coroner paused, passed a hand over his brow, mused a moment, and abandoned a half-formed determination he had made, to push this particular enquiry as far as he could. To state the truth, he was a little afraid of Mr. Thomas Dunscomb, whose reputation at the bar was of too high a character to have escaped his notice. On the whole, therefore, he decided to accept the name of Mary Monson, reserving the right of the state to enquire further, hereafter. “Where do you reside?” “At present, in this place—lately, in the family of Peter Goodwin, whose remains are supposed to be in this room.” “How long had you resided in that family?” “Nine weeks, to a day. I arrived in the morning, and the fire occurred at night.” “Relate all that you know concerning that fire, if you please, Miss—I call you Miss, supposing you to be unmarried?”