"Yes, sir, in an instant," nodded Lionel. "Matthew," he whispered, laying his hand kindly on the old man's shoulder as he passed, and bending down to him with his sympathising eyes, his pleasant voice, "I am grieved for this as if it had been my own sister. Believe me." "I know it; I know you, Mr. Lionel," was the faint answer. "Don't unman me, sir, afore 'em here; leave me to myself." With a pressure of his hand on the shoulder ere he quitted it, Lionel turned to Frederick Massingbird, asking of him particulars in an undertone. "I don't know them myself," replied Frederick, his accent a haughty one. "There seems to be nothing but uncertainty and mystery. Mr. Verner ought not to have inquired into it in this semi-public way. Very disagreeable things have been said, I assure you. There was not the least necessity for allowing such absurdities to go forth, as suspicions, to the public. You have not been running from the Willow Pond at a strapping pace, I suppose, to-night?". "That I certainly have not," replied Lionel. "Neither has John, I am sure," returned Frederick resentfully. "It is not likely. And yet that boy of Mother Duff's--" The words were interrupted. The door had opened, and John Massingbird appeared, marshalling in Dinah Roy. Dinah looked fit to die, with her ashy face and her trembling frame. "Why, what is the matter?" exclaimed Mr. Verner. The woman burst into tears. "Oh, sir, I don't know nothing of it; I protest I don't," she uttered. "I declare that I never set eyes on Rachel Frost this blessed night." "But you were near the spot at the time?" "Oh, bad luck to me, I was!" she answered, wringing her hands. "But I know no more how she got into the water nor a child unborn." "Where's the necessity for being put out about it, my good woman?" spoke up Mr. Bitterworth. "If you know nothing, you can't tell it. But you must state what you do know--why you were there, what startled you, and such like. Perhaps--if she were to have a chair?" he suggested to Mr. Verner in a whisper. "She looks too shaky to stand." "Ay," acquiesced Mr. Verner. "Somebody bring forward a chair. Sit down, Mrs. Roy." Mrs. Roy obeyed. One of those harmless, well-meaning, timid women, who seem not to possess ten ideas of their own, and are content to submit to others, she had often been seen in a shaky state from very trifling causes. But she had never been seen like this. The perspiration was pouring off her pinched face, and her blue check apron was incessantly raised to wipe it. "What errand had you near the Willow Pond this evening?" asked Mr. Verner. "I didn't see anything," she gasped, "I don't know anything. As true as I sit here, sir, I never saw Rachel Frost this blessed evening." "I am not asking you about Rachel Frost. _Were_ you near the spot?" "Yes. But--" "Then you can say what errand you had there; what business took you to it," continued Mr. Verner.