She stood beside the screen at the other side of the room; and then she seemed to hear again the voice which had said those words in her ear--“The sister of a murderer--the sister of the man who killed his best friend. He will be here in a day or two and all the world will ring with his name--with your name. There is no hope for you--no hope!” She put her hands over her ears, trying to shut out that dread voice; but it would not be shut out. It came to her with maddening monotony. She walked to and fro saying beneath her breath: “Mercy--mercy--for God's sake, mercy!” She made a pause as if listening for something. Then with a cry, in the agony of her despair, she rushed back to the case of arrows and crashed in the glass with both her gloved hands. In a second her hands were grasped from behind. “Agnes! Agnes, my beloved!” said Sir Percival. She turned to him, looking wonderingly up to his face. “My dearest, what has happened? What does that mean?” He pointed to the broken glass while he was leading her away. “You will soon know all,” she said. “I have the letter--it will tell you what I have no words to tell.” He took the letter from her hand, and with one of his hands still holding hers, he read it. “This tells me no more than I have known from the first,” said he. “What, you knew that he was guilty?” she said. “I knew it: I hoped that he would confess to you.” “Good God! You knew of his guilt and let the innocent man suffer?” “I heard nothing of that. I liked the girl for keeping the secret; he will marry her now.” She stared at him. “Who is the girl that knew it was he who killed Richard Westwood?” she asked. “My poor Agnes! You are the victim of some dreadful misapprehension,” said Sir Percival. “This confession refers to Lizzie Dangan's fault.” “What! But the murder--surely it can have but one meaning?” she cried. “Oh, my beloved, I see it all now. Thank Heaven that I came in time to save you. You assumed that your brother's confession referred to the murder of Richard Westwood. You were wrong. I have just come from hearing the confession of the man who shot poor Westwood, and who died a quarter of an hour ago. It was Ralph Dangan who shot Richard Westwood with the revolver that by ill-luck he had found on the grass where the man Standish had thrown it. Dangan had seen Mr. Westwood with Lizzie that night--she had gone to him secretly for advice--and he shot him, believing that he was the girl's lover.” Agnes looked at him for a long time. She walked to the window and stood there for some moments; then with a cry she turned and stretched out her arms to him. “My beloved--my beloved, you have suffered; but your days of suffering are over!” he whispered, as he held her close to him. * * * * * There were voices at the door. Claude Westwood entered, followed by Clare; he hurried to Agnes. “For God's sake, tell her nothing! It is too late now--she is my wife,” he said, in a low voice.