“Nothing, as well as I remember,” the witness said. “I was very sleepy, and I dropped off again in a few moments. I just remember my husband turning his light out, and that is all. I never saw him again alive.” “And you heard nothing in the night?” “No: I never woke until my maid brought my tea in the morning at seven o’clock. She closed the door leading to my husband’s room, as she always did, and I supposed him to be still there. He always needed a great deal of sleep. He sometimes slept until quite late in the morning. I had breakfast in my sitting-room. It was about ten when I heard that my husband’s body had been found.” The witness dropped her head and silently waited for her dismissal. But it was not to be yet. “Mrs. Manderson.” The coroner’s voice was sympathetic, but it had a hint of firmness in it now. “The question I am going to put to you must, in these sad circumstances, be a painful one; but it is my duty to ask it. Is it the fact that your relations with your late husband had not been, for some time past, relations of mutual affection and confidence? Is it the fact that there was an estrangement between you?” The lady drew herself up again and faced her questioner, the colour rising in her cheeks. “If that question is necessary,” she said with cold distinctness, “I will answer it so that there shall be no misunderstanding. During the last few months of my husband’s life his attitude towards me had given me great anxiety and sorrow. He had changed towards me; he had become very reserved, and seemed mistrustful. I saw much less of him than before; he seemed to prefer to be alone. I can give no explanation at all of the change. I tried to work against it; I did all I could with justice to my own dignity, as I thought. Something was between us, I did not know what, and he never told me. My own obstinate pride prevented me from asking what it was in so many words; I only made a point of being to him exactly as I had always been, so far as he would allow me. I suppose I shall never know now what it was.” The witness, whose voice had trembled in spite of her self-control over the last few sentences, drew down her veil when she had said this, and stood erect and quiet. One of the jury asked a question, not without obvious hesitation. “Then was there never anything of the nature of what they call Words between you and your husband, ma’am?” “Never.” The word was colourlessly spoken; but every one felt that a crass misunderstanding of the possibilities of conduct in the case of a person like Mrs. Manderson had been visited with some severity. Did she know, the coroner asked, of any other matter which might have been preying upon her husband’s mind recently? Mrs. Manderson knew of none whatever. The coroner intimated that her ordeal was at an end, and the veiled lady made her way to the door. The general attention, which followed her for a few moments, was now eagerly directed upon Martin, whom the coroner had proceeded to call.