"In that case," said Lucas, moving on, "I must decline to answer further questions." "No!" cried Herne, laying a strong grasp on the arm of the young man, "you don't escape me that way, you--you murderer!" "Murderer!" repeated Lovel, shaking off the grip of the other. "What do you mean?" "Mean, sir?--that you shot Miss Lester; that you killed my promised wife!" "You are mad to make so monstrous an accusation!" said Lovel, sharply. "I would not have hurt a hair of Miss Lester's head. I--I--I respected her too much." "You mean you loved her too much," scoffed Herne. Lovel shrugged his shoulders, and turning his back on the squire addressed himself to Chaskin and Mexton. "Gentlemen," he said, "Mr. Herne is evidently upset by the death of Miss Lester, and not responsible for his speech. I should advise you to take him home." "But you can assure him that you did not meet Miss Lester last night?" said Chaskin. "What!" cried Lovel, ironically, "do you believe also that I did? I beg your pardon; I see you are Herne's most intimate friend, and must stand up for him." "I can stand up for myself with the help of God," said Herne, fiercely; "you need not lie to me, Lovel. I know you loved Millicent Lester, and that you met her several times during my absence. You wanted to marry her and draw her into worldly paths." Lovel faced round with black wrath on his face, and burst out in a fury, "I wanted to save her from you!" he cried, clenching his hands. "I loved her with a love of which your cold, frigid nature is incapable. Yes, I met her several times, and I urged her to break off the marriage with a man who desired to use her in order to minister to his vanity. You would have made a nun of the poor girl; you would have tortured her heart with your infernal religious fanaticism; and from that fate I wished to rescue her. Much as I deplore her death, I am glad she died rather than marry you!" "I believe that--you mocker and profligate! you----" "Profligate!" repeated Lovel, in disdain. "And what are you--in London? Here you are a saint, with your religion and aspirations; but what are you when with Catinka?" "Catinka," cried Mexton, astonished at Lovel's knowledge of the name. "Yes; the Polish violinist, with her Anarchistic plots against the Czar. The woman who uses her beauty to snare men into conspiracy and devilment. I knew her before you did, Herne, and I know she wanted me to become her slave and fellow-conspirator; but I escaped and came down here out of her way. I heard how you met her, and I know how you love her----" "Liar! I do not love her!" "You do--you do!" declared Lovel furiously; "you love her, and it was at her house that you wasted your time in London when supposed to be absent on religious missions. I intended to tell all your wickedness to Miss Lester last night." "Ah! you met her! I knew it!"