A deep flush suffused Rumbold's face, but his tones of assumed careless indifference changed. "How now, mistress?" he demanded with sternly knitted brows. "Was it needful to be craving your leave for them to pay a little visit to the Warder's Room to--to inspect its pictures, and--and--its old oak chest, and--and--what not?" rather lamely concluded Rumbold, darting at the same time a keen sideways glance at her. "But let me tell you, Ruth, I like not these would-be prying ways of yours. 'Tis fortunate that these walls"--and he glanced with infinite satisfaction round the solid-looking wainscot--"were not made in to-day's gimcrack fashion, for the entertainment of every eaves-dropper who pleases to be lending his idle ear to--to concerns that are too high for him. You did hear nothing?" he added with ill-concealed anxiety after a moment's pause. "Father--dearest, do you love me?" was all her answer. "In truth, do you love me?" "Ay, ay. What a strange girl you are, Ruth! I love you dearer than life, little one;" and he drew her towards him, and laid her head down gently on his breast. "Far, far dearer than life. But hark you," and then all the wistful tenderness died out of his voice, "that says not that I love your faults. Among which I find this prying, curious habit--that accursed inheritance of which our poor unhappy mother Eve has bequeathed her daughters so large a share of." "But, father--dearest--" "Ay. Then let me see thee thy father's child. Seek truth and righteousness as he has always done; and put off,--as some one put off certain mountebank pink petticoats we wot of--eh, little Ruth?--the pride of life, and the lust of the eye and the ear; for these are but part and parcel all of things that lead to the soul's destruction; feeding vain imagination and empty fancy--" "Father! father!" interrupted Ruth, wildly, "I would it were fancy, or that my poor silly imagination were to blame. But 'tis truth and fact indeed. See here!" and dragging him before the panel, she pushed it open with hasty trembling hands. "See what these--friends of yours have done!" "Sheriff Goodenough!" cried Rumbold, recoiling in horror-struck amazement! "Dead?" [Sidenote: Murdered!] "Murdered--look. There is blood upon his hands." "Who has done this? Who?--" "Colonel Rumsey." "The villain!" muttered Rumbold, grinding his teeth. "I knew," he went on meditatively, knitting his brows, "that their hearts were not at peace with one another. How came we to be so ill-advised as to leave them alone together?--Yet to dream of its coming to this! And how--" Then he paused. What need to ask how she had come by her information? The broken panel explained all. "What brought it about?" he said after another silence. "They came to high words?" Ruth nodded. "Concerning?--" "The murder of the king." "Master Goodenough being opposed to it?"