“That is the right word,” she said, with a faint smile; “he was furious; and Walter--your brother--laughed. I did not like that--it was insulting. We were all young people together. Why should not he have cared for--me?--when both of _them_----. But we must not think of that--we must not talk of that, Geoff--we cannot blame your poor brother. He is dead, poor fellow; and such a death, in the very flower of his youth! What were a few little silly boyish faults to that? He died, you know, and all the trouble came. Walter had been very stinging--very insulting, to that poor fellow just the day before, and he could not bear it. He went off that very day, and I have never heard of him again. I don’t think people in general even knew who he was. The Fieldings do not to this day. But Walter’s foolish joking drove him away. Poor Walter, he had a way of talking--and I suppose he must have found the secret out--or guessed. I have often--often wondered whether Mr. Bampfield knew anything, whether if he had come back he would have said anything about any quarrel between them. I used to pray for him to be found, and then I used to pray that he might not be found; for I always thought he could throw some light--and after all, what could that light be but of one kind?” “Did any one ever--suspect--_him_?” “Geoff! you frighten me. Him! whom? You know who was suspected. I don’t think it was intended, Geoff. I know--I know he did not mean it; but who but one could have done if? There could not, alas, be any doubt about that.” “If Bampfield had been insulted and made angry, as you say, why should not he have been suspected as well as Musgrave? The one, it seems to me, was just as likely as the other----” “Geoff! you take away my breath! But he was away; he left the day before.” “Suppose it was found out that he did not go away, Cousin Mary? Was he more or less likely than Musgrave was to have done a crime?” Lady Stanton looked at him with her eyes wide open, and her lips apart. “You do not--mean anything? You have not--found out anything, Geoff?” “I--can’t tell,” he said. “I think I have got a clue. If it were found out that Bampfield did not go away--that he was still here, and met poor Walter that fatal morning, what would you say then, you who knew them all?” All the colour ebbed out of Lady Stanton’s face. She kept looking at him with wistful eyes, into which tears had risen, questioning him with an earnestness beyond speech. “I dare not say the words,” she said, faltering; “I don’t venture to say the words. But, Geoff, you would not speak like this if you did not mean something. Do you think--really _think_--oh, it is not possible--it is not possible!--it is only a fancy. You can’t--suppose--that it matters--much--to me. You are only--speculating. Perhaps it ought not to matter much to me. But oh, Geoff! if--if you knew what that time was in my life. Do you mean anything--do you mean anything, my dear?”