"I am unwilling to do that," he said. "After all I am to marry Laura, and there is her sister to be considered. Should the whole truth be made public, Mrs. Fane will suffer. She is not this man's wife. I must think of her and the child, Tracey." "That's true," assented the other, pondering. Then he looked up in a brisk manner. "I reckon the best thing is for Fane here to tell us the whole story." "You have heard the story," moaned Fane, still hiding his shameful face. "Not your version of it," said Tracey. "I dare say you'll try and make black appear white, and swear you didn't kill your wife." Fane looked up. "I'll swear to that certainly," he said solemnly. "I did not kill her." Arnold turned from him in disgust, thinking to save his neck he was lying, but Walter caught him by the coat. "Calvert! Calvert! listen to me only a moment--only a moment. I swear by all that's holy that I did not lay a finger on Flora." "You acknowledge that she was your wife?" "I do--I do." "And that she came to the house?" "Yes, yes!" "And that you saw her there?" "Not alive--not alive. She was dead when I set eyes on her." "That's a lie, anyhow," said Tracey. "It is not a lie." "It is. You want to save your neck. Hang it man, confess, and die like a man. You killed this poor woman to rid yourself of her." "No! I didn't. I swear I didn't. Oh, why won't you believe me?" "You are such a liar," said Tracey. "But I don't want to be hard on you. Take a drink of brandy. It will pull you together. Calvert, with your permission----" The American went to the side-board and filled a glass. While he was thus occupied, Calvert touched the man on the shoulder. Fane, who had again sunk into the chair, trembling and white, looked up. "Take the brandy," said Calvert quietly, "and then tell us your story. Until I am absolutely convinced of your guilt, I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt." "Oh bless you--bless you!" Fane seized Arnold's hand, and tried to kiss it, but the young man drew it away, with an ejaculation of disgust, and wiped it. "Be a man," he said angrily. "If you had nerve enough to kill poor Flora in that brutal manner, surely you can face the result." "I didn't kill her, I tell you," cried Fane in an hysterical manner. "I am as innocent as you are. Give me the brandy--give--ah!" He had it to his lips by this time, and drained the glass of neat spirits at a draught. Then he coughed, placed the glass on the table, and sat down. The spirit give him the courage he lacked, and after a few moments he looked up, more composed. "Sit down, Calvert, and you, Mr. Tracey. I'm going to make a clean breast of it. But you will not find me so bad as you think."