"Mr. Lawrence," he said, in a voice that vibrated with feeling, "it is not the corpse of your daughter that I am about to restore to the desecrated vault, but the _living_, beautiful Lily that will be given back to your heart and your home!" Mr. Lawrence fell back against the cushion of the carriage like one stricken with death, so great was the shock of the detective's revelation. Mr. Shelton took a small flask from his pocket, and forced some wine between his white and gasping lips. "I feared these joyful tidings would unnerve you," said he, gently. "Calm yourself, my dear sir. Your daughter, whom you have mourned as dead, yet lives. It was her own living self that you saw in your hall that night, not her spirit!" "Oh! God be thanked! Lily lives!" repeated the banker in a low voice of ecstasy. Shelton put his head out of the carriage window a moment. "We have caught up with the officers' hack," said he. "Now we are all right. Driver, just keep on at your present pace. We do not need to go faster." "Every moment seems an hour," exclaimed the banker, in a fever of anxiety and impatience. "Oh, to think that my darling lives! And yet, oh, God! what would be her feelings on learning that her betrothed will wed another to-night!" "Do not distress yourself about that marriage, Mr. Lawrence," answered the detective. "I assure you it shall never be consummated." "Ah! you think she will generously yield him to Lily when she finds that she is still living?" said the banker; "but you do not know Mrs. Vance. Nothing would induce her to release her victim from the toils she has wound about him." "Perhaps I know more of Mrs. Vance than you suppose," said Mr. Shelton. "For instance, Mr. Lawrence, you believe that your daughter committed suicide--do you not?" "It was the jury's verdict," said the banker. "Mr. Lawrence, your daughter was as happy and as much in love with life as you believed her to be. She never attempted to commit suicide," said the detective, firmly. "She did not? Then who--what--?" began the banker, in a maze of bewilderment. "The dagger that pierced her innocent breast was driven home by the murderous hand of Mrs. Vance!" was the reply. Fear, horror and amazement were blended on the pale, excited features of the listener. His gray head fell back against the cushions of the carriage, and he struggled helplessly for speech in which to express his feelings. Mr. Shelton again had recourse to his convenient flask of wine. "I fear I am exciting you too much with my astonishing revelations," said the detective, kindly. "I do not wonder at your emotion, for my own agitation at learning these facts was great. How much more poignant must your feelings be than mine were, under the circumstances that affect you so closely." "The viper! The serpent that stung the hand that warmed and fed her!" exclaimed the banker, bitterly.