"Because I believe he knows something about this murder." "Oh, Tera!" cried Rachel, flushing, "you don't think her husband killed her. Poor thing!" "No, I should be sorry to think that. But I dare say he knows who did." "I wonder who she married?" said Herbert, reflectively. "Slade, the policeman, was very sweet on her." "Oh, he can't be her husband!" cried Rachel, vigorously; "why, he has been married almost a year. Herbert, surely you don't think Slade has committed bigamy?" "I hope not, Rachel. As a policeman he should know the danger of it. Well, interesting as this conversation is, I must be off." And Herbert rose to his feet with a yawn. "Won't you stay to supper, Herbert?" asked Rachel, with a blush. "No. You have the house full already. But I may look in after and smoke a pipe with the farmer." Mayne glanced so significantly at Rachel as he made this remark that Tera felt sure he spoke in the character of an accepted lover. Her belief was strengthened when she saw Rachel go to the door with the young man and return with a heightened colour. Tera drew her dark brows together and seemed displeased. While Rachel set out the supper-table she talked to Jack and Tolai in the most unconcerned manner, but when Rachel was about to go to her bedroom to smarten herself up for the meal, she stopped her. "I'll come with you, dear, if I may," she said, rising. "I'll leave you. Jack, to talk with Tolai, and wait for Farmer Carwell." "Right you are," said Jack, lighting his pipe. "Come out for a stroll, Tolai. We have lots to talk about." Tera drew Rachel into the bedroom and shut the door. Then she looked at her steadily, and kissed her. "Has Mr. Mayne proposed?" she asked. "Oh, how did you guess?" fluttered Rachel, growing very red. "Yes, dear. He has asked me to be his wife." "And have you promised to marry him?" "Well, I love him very much, Bithiah, and he belongs to our congregation, and he has a nice farm, and is good-looking, and----" "Ah, I see you said yes." "Oh!" Rachel flung her arms round Tera's neck. "I am so happy." "Poor dear!" sighed the native girl; "and I am about to make you wretched." Rachel drew back in amazement. "Make me wretched?" she gasped. "Yes. Your Herbert Mayne is not what you think him." "Not what I think him? Why? What do you mean?" "I mean," said Tera, slowly, "that he has been deceiving you. He has been married already. Zara the gipsy was his wife. I can prove it." CHAPTER XIX "THE TRUTH WILL OUT"