"Read! Read! Everything is against him--everything. Oh, how can I bear my life? How can I live?" "Alice," said the old dame again, although she was very white, "if this lying paper means to say that Bernard murdered Sir Simon, I tell you again that I don't believe a word of it. You, who love him, ought to believe in his innocence." "But the evidence." "A fig for evidence. Circumstantial evidence has hanged an innocent man before now. Bernard Gore kill that old tyrant----?" "Hush! He is dead!" "And so we are to speak well of him," snapped Miss Berengaria. "Oh, well"--she rubbed her nose--"we'll tell lies about him like the majority of tombstones do of those who lie below, but I tell you, foolish girl that you are, Bernard did not kill the old man, nor did he kill himself." "But the paper says----" "I don't care what the paper says," said Miss Berengaria, resolutely. "No, indeed. I am a better judge of character than any paper. That poor boy was vilely treated by that--there! there! I won't say a word against Sir Simon. He's dead, and we must be lenient. But Bernard Gore is innocent. Before I read I tell you that." "I hope it may be so," cried Alice, clasping her hands. "It is so," said the other, sharply and in a truly feminine way. "All I know is that Sloppy Jane adored him, and she's not the dog to adore anyone who would shed blood." Alice could not but see that this reasoning was not based on facts. But, all the same, ridiculous though it was, she derived a certain comfort from it. Miss Berengaria, who had been thus optimistic to quieten the poor girl, nodded, when Alice took a seat in the opposite chair more composed, and addressed herself to mastering the facts of the case. Alice, with clasped hands, stared at the old lady as she read silently but with frequent raising of her eyebrows and sometimes a sniff. The paper stated that Sir Simon and his grandson, Bernard, were enemies, that the young man, having been hanging round the house for a fortnight courting the housemaid, had secured an interview with the elder when Miss Randolph was at the theatre. He had evidently quarrelled with Sir Simon, and, having chloroformed him, had quietly strangled him with his own handkerchief, after which he left the house. Then followed an account of the pursuit and failure to capture Gore. "He escaped the officers by plunging into the river," said the journal. "Next morning his khaki coat and hat were found on the opposite bank, so doubtless he got rid of them when attempting to swim. But what, with the cold and the fog, undoubtedly he must have succumbed to the force of the current." Finally the paper stated that an inquest would be held within two days on the dead body. At the conclusion of this somewhat bald article, Miss Berengaria gave a short laugh and threw down the paper. "I don't believe a word of it," she said, folding her arms, "and I'm going up to London." "What for, aunt?"