"You certainly deceived me for one," said Mr. Cass, bluntly. "I thought you still loved the creature." "Loved him! Why, I hated him with all my soul. It was only my religious principles, and my desire to expiate my sin, that made me tolerate him." "In Heaven's name, what is your sin?" "I'll tell you soon enough," she said. "But do not be afraid. I have not dipped my hands in blood. Let me tell my story in my own way. It is not easy for me to tell it at all. I only do so now in order to avert, worse trouble." Knowing her obstinacy, her brother saw that it was useless to protest. "Go on," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Have your own way." "I often wish we had kept to our mother's faith," continued Mrs. Marshall. "She was of the true Church, and Catholicism is such a comforting religion. One has a confessor; that would have done me good. I have often longed to confess and relieve my mind." "Why did you not confess to me?" "I had no reason for making you my confidant, Sebastian," she said, icily. "Well, I was of the Protestant faith, and could not confess, so I had to bear my own sorrow as best I could. Frank tried me at times with his dreadful ways, but I had a whip to manage him." "What was the whip?" asked Mr. Cass, struck by the fact that she used almost the same phrase that he had used to her husband. "I will tell you shortly; but I mortified my flesh in every way. Look at this house. You know how I love pretty things, and yet I spend my life in the midst of these horrors. I am fond of----" "See here, Inez," broke in her brother, "I want I to know about this pocket-book. You can tell me your feelings later." CHAPTER XXVI. THE PENANCE OF INEZ. Sebastian's abrupt interruption of his sister's enthusiastic confession was as a douche of cold water on glowing iron. The iron forthwith cooled; that is to say, Mrs. Marshall, from flesh and blood, became stone again. "Of course I will tell you all you wish to know," she said, in even tones, with about as much feeling as might have been expected from a cuckoo. "But since you will not let me tell my story in my own way, I think it is best that you should put your own questions, then I shall know precisely what you do want." "Don't be angry!" entreated her brother; "but tell me all for the sake of the family. Where did you learn that Frank had committed forgery?" "At the Waggoner's Pond." Mr. Cass started from his seat and stared down at his sister in surprise. He remembered what Marshall had told him about that appointment at the Waggoner's Pond. "What!" he cried. "Were you out on the night of the murder? Did you overhear the conversation between Marshall and Jenner?" "Oh, it was Jenner, was it?" she said, quite composedly. "Well, I guessed as much, though I could never be quite sure." "Didn't your husband tell you that he had met him by the Waggoner's Pond?" She looked up with scorn and contempt.