“Yes,” she answered, failing to note the irony in his laugh, and conscious only of the loftiness of her motive. “Yes, for it would have broken my heart had they even whispered your name. Tell me! tell me! What is it? Whose body is that in the accursed chest? My mind is going—I can bear no more! Maxwell, I love you—I love you!” “My poor little girl,” he said pityingly, looking down at her; “my Kate! We will talk it all over on our way to town—for I shall go back with you. Only you must be brave now. Remember that what I did with my hand I did not do with my heart, will you? My hand killed him; not my mind nor my will. Believe that, will you not, darling?” “I will believe neither,” she cried bitterly. “You did not! you did not!” “Hush!—they will hear you,” warned Fair, adding more gently: “Now wait here and say nothing to anyone. I will return at once—and we will catch the next train for town. Poor, poor Janet—good God, what work!” He dashed into the house, and Kate sat as if dreaming on the garden seat. After trying to collect her thoughts and to fathom the deepening mystery which was overwhelming her, she suddenly caught sight of the torn letter which Mrs. March had dropped upon the seat. Acting mechanically and scarcely knowing what she was doing or that she was doing anything at all, she glanced at the piece of the letter which she had chanced to pick up—and at once her mind was awake. There was a name—a name and an address that startled her by their seeming incomprehensible coincidence with her thoughts at the moment. Hearing voices approaching before she had fully taken in the meaning of this new bit of perplexing tangle, she thrust the scrap of paper into her pocket. The next instant she saw Fair coming out of the door, carrying his portmanteau. At his side was Mrs. March. “I am so sorry,” Mrs. March was saying as they came up to her. “You have your bag—which means that you are not waiting for luncheon. Must you really rush off in this way? I wanted to speak to you ever so much.” “Yes,” Fair replied, putting down the bag and consulting a time-table; “awfully sorry, but I have just heard that Mrs. Fair was unable to proceed to Paris this morning, and, of course, I shall be very anxious until I see her and learn the cause. I think you have met Miss Mettleby, Mrs. March?” “Oh, how do you do?” smiled Mrs. March, giving Kate a warm hand grasp. “Good morning, Mrs. March,” responded Kate, and then to Fair: “I think, if you don’t mind, sir, I’ll go along through the park by myself. We have some time, I think, before the train is due. Good morning.” “Do,” urged Fair, and when Kate had disappeared he turned to Mrs. March not very cheerfully: “You wished to confess something or other to me? Do, if you love me, make it something uproariously funny—or else choose another father confessor. I’m a bit edgy this morning, you know.”