"Of what nature were those threats?" they ask her. "He threatened to destroy himself if I did not become his wife, but, oh, I did not believe it, really--I thought he was only trying to frighten me into compliance with his wish," she cries, while a look of regret and sorrow transforms this fair, beautiful face. A hum of surprise goes through the eager throng of listeners. "Do you believe that he really killed himself?" "Yes; how else should he have met his death?" she inquired, fixing a look of grave wonder upon him. A slight whisper goes through the crowd again--some shrug their shoulders. The coroner pursues without answering her question: "Was Mr. Clyde in the habit of making such suicidal threats?" "He had done so on several occasions." "In the presence of witnesses?" the question is asked with strange gravity. Maud looks at him with a grave wonder on her fair, proud face. "No, of course not," she answers, a little annoyance in her clear tone. "Then you cannot prove that the deceased made those threats against his own life?" the coroner asked in a troubled tone. It is very plain to him that she cannot see the cloud of distress and suspicion gathering around her. "Cannot prove it!" she says, indignantly. "You have _my_ word under oath." "Other evidence would make it all the stronger," he replies, evasively. The officer who has brought her goes forward and whispers something in the coroner's ear. He starts and looks at the girl fixedly a moment from head to foot, then proceeds with the examination. "When you left your uncle's house last night, did you return to your trysting-place with your discarded lover?" She stares at him with strangely dilated eyes, and parted lips. "Why should I?" she says. "I had dismissed him, and parted from him. I supposed he had gone away." "Please answer, yes or no, to the question," he urges. "What question?" a little shortly. "The one I asked you just now. Did you return to your discarded lover at this place when you left Langton Villa the second time? Yes, or no." "No, then," with a slight touch of defiance. A minute of dead silence. The coroner resumes, almost irrelevantly, it would seem: "Is the dress you wear now the same one you had on last night, Miss Langton?" "Yes, the same. I have not slept all night, she replies, wearily. "Please observe that on the front breadth of your dress there are some dark, reddish-looking splashes and stains that resemble blood. Can you account for them?" A cry of mingled horror and fear comes from her lips. All eyes turn on the stylish, dark-gray silk that clings so gracefully to the tall, finely molded figure. True enough, there are some dark red stains on the middle breadth between the lower frills and the upper drapery. "Can you account for them?" the coroner repeats. But after one swift glance at the tell-tale marks, Maud crimsons, and the tears start into her eyes.