Mr. Cass shrugged his shoulders. "No, I don't blame you," he said. "But you might have given me the benefit of the doubt. Appearances are against Marshall, too. Well, we shall see if he is as wrongly suspected as I was. Are you going now? It is early." "I should like to see Ruth for a few minutes." "Well, she will be quite as glad to see you. She is dull, poor girl, and the horror of this thing--so much as she knows of it at least--has got on her nerves. Go and see her, and come here at eleven to-morrow. Of course, you will tell her nothing." "Certainly not. Good-night." "By the way, I forgot to tell you that Webster is coming down next week. He is much better, and I think the change will do him good." "Humph! Will you tell him of this discovery?" "I don't know. What do you think?" "I should say nothing until we are quite certain. Let us our own counsel for the honour of the family." "I think you are right," said Mr. Cass with a sigh. "Heaven grant, for the happiness of us all, that we are wrong in our suspicions. Now go, my dear hoy, and leave me to think the matter over. Ruth is waiting for you." Heron found Ruth in the winter garden and in tears. She told him, she was the moat miserable girl in the world, and that nobody cared for her; which last statement Mr. Heron was not inclined to hear without venturing to put forward his own claims. "My darling, girl, how can you say so?" he asked, pressing her closely in his arms. "I love you more than all the world." "Every man says that when he can think of nothing else to say," replied Ruth, who was too much disturbed to be wholly just. "And if you really loved me, you wouldn't have neglected me so." "My dear, I was busy. You know what took up my time." "Yes, I know, and I wish I didn't know! This horrid business has troubled me morn and night. I wonder my hair hasn't turned grey!" "Nonsense!" cried Geoffrey. "It is as black as ever." "Black as the outlook of our lives." Heron could not help a smile at this grandiloquent speech. It was so unlike Ruth to indulge in what the Americans call "tall talk." "Leave the wretched affair alone, dear," he said, kissing her. "You need not trouble your pretty head any more about it." "But I must," she insisted. "If my suspicions are not set at rest, I shall go mad. And the worst of it is, I have promised my father to tell you nothing. If I could only speak freely to you, it would ease my mind." "Then ease it and speak freely, Ruth. Oh, you need not shake your head. I know what you are talking about--those sleeve-links." "Yes, that is it!" she cried hysterically. "I have nearly killed myself with anxiety over the whole thing. Oh, what a wicked girl I am!" "No, my dear; only a very foolish girl. But you can set your mind at rest once and for all. Your father is perfectly innocent of what you impute to him. He had nothing do with the crime; and he believed in all good faith that Mrs. Jenner was the guilty person."