“Very true,” answered Millington; “and I learned something concerning him, too. It seems that the old fellow drank intensely, at times, when he and his wife made the house too hot to hold them. All the Burtons agreed in giving this account of the good couple. The failing was not generally known, and had not yet gone so far as to affect the old man’s general character, though it would seem to have been known to the immediate neighbours.” “And not one word of all this, is to be found in any of the reports in the papers from town! Not a particle of testimony on the point before the inquest! Why, Mike, this single fact may furnish a clue to the whole catastrophe.” “In what way?” Millington very quietly enquired. “Those bones are the bones of females; old Goodwin has robbed the house, set fire to it, murdered his wife and the German woman in a drunken frolic, and run away. Here is a history for Uncle Tom, that will delight him; for if he do not feel quite certain of Mary Monson’s innocence now, he would be delighted to learn its truth!” “You make much out of a very little, Jack, and imagine far more than you can prove. Why should old Goodwin set fire to his own house—for I understand the property was his—steal his own money—for, though married women did then hold a separate estate in a bed-quilt, or a gridiron, the law could not touch the previous accumulations of a feme coverte—and murder a poor foreigner, who could neither give nor take away anything that the building contained? Then he is to burn his own house, and make himself a vagrant in his old age—and that among strangers! I learn he was born in that very house, and has passed his days in it. Such a man would not be very likely to destroy it.” “Why not, to conceal a murder? Crime must be concealed, or it is punished.” “Sometimes,” returned Michael, drily. “This Mary Monson will be hanged, out of all question, should the case go against her, for she understands French, and Italian, and German, you say; either of which tongues would be sufficient to hang her; but had old Mrs. Goodwin murdered _her_, philanthropy would have been up and stirring, and no rope would be stretched.” “Millington, you have a way of talking, at times, that is quite shocking! I do wish you could correct it. What use is there in bringing a young lady like Miss Monson down to the level of a common criminal?” “She will be brought down as low as that, depend on it, if guilty. There is no hope for one who bears about her person, in air, manner, speech, and deportment, the unequivocal signs of a lady. Our sympathies are all kept for those who are less set apart from the common herd. Sympathy goes by majorities, as well as other matters.” “You think her, at all events, a lady?” said John, quickly. “How, then, can you suppose it possible that she has been guilty of the crimes of which she stands accused?”