"I wonder they stayed here so long when the season was on in London," said Aunt Sophia, "but it was all that foolish Mrs. Bellin. She chose to consider herself ill, and so insisted upon remaining here. Now she can't resist the attractions of town life any longer, and goes next week." "She has to arrange about the wedding, Sophia. You know it takes place in July. I wonder if Mr. Felix Briarfield will be back in time to be best man." "That I can safely say is impossible," said I dryly. "But why?" exclaimed both the old ladies, scenting news. "Well, he has gone to Italy, and from there goes to the East," I answered, unwilling to tell the truth. "I don't see how he can return in time for the wedding if it takes place in July." My female relatives looked significantly at one another. "What did I tell you, Sophia?" said Aunt Jane in a tone of subdued triumph. "Yes, sister, you were right," sighed Sophia, shaking her head. "Poor young man. I thought myself he loved Olivia." "Who loved Olivia?" I asked sharply. "Felix Briarfield," said Aunt Jane; "when his brother went to America, he was always with her, and no doubt loved her dearly. I can scarcely wonder at that, as she is so beautiful a girl. But he behaved very well, and when Francis came back, went to the Continent." "He was unable to bear the sight of his brother's happiness," said Aunt Sophia sentimentally; "poor, poor young man! I have no doubt his heart is broken. He actually left Marshminster before his brother arrived from America, so as to spare himself the painful sight of their happiness." I saw by this conversation that my surmise was correct. Felix had fallen in love with Olivia while his brother was in America, and, selfishly determined not to give her up, had devised the idea of passing himself off as Francis. With this in his mind he had gone to Paris, and pretended to stay there; then reappeared at Marshminster as Francis, alleging an earlier return from Chili as an excuse. When Francis really returned, Felix asked him to be at the Fen Inn, so as to rid himself of his brother before he could see Olivia. Whether he intended to kill Francis or to merely explain matters I could not tell, but at all events Francis had been murdered, and I firmly believed that Felix was morally guilty of the crime. The suppression of the letters, the substitution of himself as Francis, and the dexterous manner in which he had rid himself of the corpse (according to Merrick's theory), all showed me that I had a dangerous and reckless man to deal with. But after the clever way in which he had baffled me in Paris by resuming his name I was prepared for any villainy at his hands. He had committed himself so far that he could not draw back, and was compelled to follow crime by crime in order to bolster up his position.