The two young men walked through the village, and turned off to the high road. The shortest way to gran's tent was through the Winding Lane and across the common; but for obvious reasons, connected with the memory of the dead, they were unwilling to pass the fatal spot where Milly had come by her timely end. They walked smartly along the high road, and when well on their way Paul produced and showed to Lucas the handkerchief of Herne found by Iris. "It is spotted with blood, you see," he said earnestly; "that looks as though Herne had something to do with the murder." "I dare say when he came out of his trance he examined the body," said Lucas, "and dropped the handkerchief in the blood--Milly's blood, poor girl! Ugh!" and he shuddered. "We'll see what Herne says about it," said Paul, taking back the handkerchief. "I expect him back from London to-morrow." "He believes me guilty, Mexton, and I quite see how. He saw me with Milly, and then fell into his trance. When he came out of it he discovered that I was gone and the girl dead. I don't wonder he suspects me." "But, if so, why did he not raise the alarm on the moment?" "Afraid to inculpate himself, no doubt," replied Lucas. "But here we are." Mother Jimboy's tent stood on the verge of the common, all by itself. She was with none of her kinsfolk, and camped alone in quite a hermit fashion. Since her illness a long lean girl with sharp black eyes had come forward in some mysterious fashion to take charge of her, and it was this damsel who appeared round a corner of the tent when the young men approached. Evidently the girl knew Lovel, for she nodded to him in a familiar fashion and addressed him directly. "Gran's better, rye," said she, "and wants to see you. I was just going for you." "I wonder what she wants to see me about," speculated Lovel, as the girl lifted up the flap of the tent. "We'll soon learn. Come, Mexton!" and they crept into the dwelling of the old gipsy. Gran was lying on the ground amid a pile of dingy blankets, over which was thrown a gaily striped quilt. Her face was leaner and more wrinkled than ever, and her eyes were sunken. Still, they glittered with intelligence, and she seemed to have all her faculties about her, as she bent forward and clutched the hand of her grandson. "Eh, dearie, I be main glad to see 'ee, for sure. An' t'other rye--who be he?" "I am Paul Mexton," said that gentleman, "and I have come with Mr. Lovel to hear what you have to say about the murder." Gran began a cackling laugh, and choked in the middle of it. "Oh, 'tis gran as knows the pure truth o' that," she said, when her breath came back. "I wanted to tell mun to you, dearie, so that you may be cliver and save yourself." "To me?" cried Lucas, bending forward. "Do you know who killed Milly?" "Ees, for sure. I was at the stile when mun fired wi' pistol." "Who fired the pistol?" asked Paul, much excited. "Herne?"