His explanations, rambling and confused, deceived no one. All his hearers knew that he must have been on the watch for Rhoda’s appearance at the window of her room, where it was often her habit to sit looking out at the water that ran through the grounds. The room being unlighted, the moment he saw a woman’s figure at the window, Jack had jumped to the conclusion that it was that of Rhoda Pembury, and he had shot her, by his own account accidentally, but none the less effectually. He was suffered to leave the house without molestation, and indeed it was necessary to suggest his withdrawal, so anxious was he to remain in the vicinity of the dead woman to whom, it could not be doubted, he had been deeply attached. It was the doctor who got rid of him, and who then turned his attention to Rhoda, upon whom the tragic event, which she understood better than any one, had had an overwhelming effect. For a short time she lay prostrate, absolutely overcome by the knowledge that it was in mistake for herself that Jack Rotherfield had shot Lady Sarah. Rhoda remembered the glances which the unfortunate lady had thrown repeatedly in her direction during dinner, and did not doubt that Lady Sarah had gone to the room of her boy’s companion in order to speak to her privately. There seated or standing at the window, in the half darkness, she had been mistaken by Jack Rotherfield for Rhoda, and, although his statement was to the effect that his intention had only been to attract her attention or to frighten her--for he had given both explanations--Rhoda was quite sure that he had intended to shoot her, in revenge for what she had done in keeping him apart from Lady Sarah, or to prevent any indiscretions on her part in the shape of revelations concerning the death of Langton. Suddenly Rhoda raised herself from the couch in Lady Sarah’s boudoir where she had been placed. “Caryl!” she whispered. Mrs. Hawkes, having superintended the carrying of the body of poor Lady Sarah into her own bedroom, had left Sir Robert alone with the dead lady and had given her attention to Rhoda. Rhoda had caught the faint sound of the boy’s voice, through the open doors. He was calling for her. “I must go to him.” She struggled to her feet, and turning unsteadily, said: “Mrs. Hawkes, will you send word to the Priory of what has happened? And ask whether Lady Eridge will come? She will have to take Caryl away.” “Yes. Quite right. I hadn’t thought of it.” Rhoda went slowly to the boy’s room and found him crying in his little bed. His nurse was with him, doing her best to soothe him, but rumours of the tragedy which had killed his mother had already reached his ears, and he would not be comforted without his friend. “Rhoda, Rhoda,” cried he, as she came in, looking very white, “Is it true? Is mama dead?” “Oh, they shouldn’t have told you!”