'Does that mean that you are determined to go on?'
'It does.'

He was downright angry with me. politeness to the winds.

He cast his customary

'You

'Absurd! Impossible!' he cried, contemptuously. have yourself declared that we wronged an innocent woman, when we suspected Mrs. Beauly. Is there any one else whom we can suspect? It is ridiculous to ask the question! There is no alternative left but to accept the facts as they are, and to stir no further in the matter of the poisoning at Gleninch. It is childish to dispute plain conclusions. You must give up.'

'You may be angry with me, if you will, Mr. Dexter. Neither your anger nor your arguments will make me give up.' He controlled himself by an effort-he was quiet and polit again, when he next spoke to me.

'Very well. Pardon me for a moment, if I absorb myself in my own thoughts. I want to do something which I have not done yet.'

'What may that be, Mr. Dexter?'

'I am going to put myself into Mrs. Beauly's skin, and to think with Mrs. Beauly's mind. Give me a minute. Thank you.'

What did he mean? What new transformation of him was passing before my eyes? Was there ever such a puzzle of a man as this? Who that saw him now, intently pursuing his new train of thought, would have recognised him as the childish creature who had woke up so innocently, and who had amazed Benjamin by the infantine nonsense which h talked? It is said, and said truly, that there are many sides to every human character. Dexter's many sides were developing themselves at such a rapid rate of progress, that they were already beyond my counting!

He lifted his head, and fixed a look of keen inquiry

on me.

'I have come out of Mrs. Beauly's skin,' he announced. 'And I have arrived at this result:-We are two impetuous people; and we have been a little hasty in rushing at a conclusion.'

He stopped. I said nothing. Was the shadow of a doubt of him beginning to rise in my mind? I waited, and listened.

'I am as fully satisfied as ever of the truth of what Lady Clarinda told you,' he proceeded. But I see, on consideration, what I failed to see at the time. The story admits of two interpretations. One on the surface, and another under the surface. I look under the surface, in your interests; and I say, it is just possible that Mrs. Beauly may have been cunning enough to forestall suspicior, and set up an Alibi.’

I am ashamed to own that I did not understand what he meant by the last word-Alibi. He saw that I was not following him, and he spoke out more plainly.

'Was the maid something more than her mistress's passive accomplice?' he said. 'Was she the Hand that her mistress used? Was she on her way to give the first dose of poison, when she passed me in the corridor? Did Mrs. Beauly spend the night in Edinburgh-so as to have her defence ready, if suspicion fell upon her?'

My shadowy doubt of him became substantial doubt, when I heard that. Had I absolved him a little too readily? Was he really trying to renew my suspicions of Mrs. Beauly, as Mr. Playmore had foretold? This time I was obliged to answer him. In doing so, I unconsciously employed one of the phrases which the lawyer had used to me, during my first interview with him.

'That sounds rather far-fetched, Mr. Dexter,' I said.

To my relief, he made no attempt to defend the new view that he had advanced.

'It is far-fetched,' he admitted. 'When I said it was just

possible though I didn't claim much for my idea-I said more for it perhaps than it deserved. Dismiss my view as ridiculous; what are you to do next? If Mrs. Beauly is not the poisoner (either by herself or by her maid), who is? She is innocent, and Eustace is innocent. Where is the other person whom you can suspect? Have I poisoned her?' he cried, with eyes flashing, and his voice rising to its highest notes. 'Do you, does anybody, suspect Me? I loved her; I adored her; I have never been the same man since her death. Hush! I will trust you with a secret. (Don't tell your husband; it might be the destruction of our friendship.) I would have married her, before she met with Eustace, if she would have taken me. When the doctors told me she had died poisoned -ask Doctor Jerome what I suffered! he can tell you! All through that horrible night, I was awake; watching my opportunity until I found my way to her! I got into the room, and took my last leave of the cold remains of the angel whom I loved. I cried over her. I kissed her, for the first and last time. I stole one little lock of her hair. I have worn it ever since; I have kissed it night and day. Oh, God! the room comes back to me! the dead face comes back to me! Look! look!'

He tore from its place of concealment in his bosom a little locket, fastened by a ribbon round his neck. He threw it to me where I sat; and burst into a passion of tears.

A man in my place might have known what to do. Being only a woman, I yielded to the compassionate impulse of the moment.

I got up and crossed the room to him. I gave him back his locket, and put my hand, without knowing what I was about, on the poor wretch's shoulder. I am incapable of suspecting you, Mr. Dexter,' I said, gently. No such idea ever entered my head. I pity you from the bottom of my heart.'

He caught my hand in his, and devoured it with kisses. His lips burnt me like fire. He twisted himself suddenly in

the chair, and wound his arm round my waist. In the terror and indignation of the moment, vainly struggling with him, I cried out for help.

The door opened, and Benjamin appeared on the threshold. Dexter let go his hold of me.

I ran to Benjamin and prevented him from advancing into the room. In all my long experience of my fatherly old friend, I had never seen him really angry yet. I saw him more than angry now. He was pale-the patient, gentle old man was pale with rage! I held him at the door with all my strength.

'You can't lay your hand on a cripple,' I said. 'Send for his servant outside to take him away.'

I drew Benjamin out of the room, and closed and locked the library door. The housekeeper was in the dining-room. I sent her out to call the driver of the pony-chaise into the house.

The man came in the rough man whom I had noticed when we were approaching the garden gate. Benjamin opened the library door in stern silence. It was perhaps unworthy

of me-but I could not resist the temptation to look in.

Miserrimus Dexter had sunk down in the chair. The rough man lifted his master with a gentleness that surprised me. 'Hide my face,' I heard Dexter say to him, in broken tones. He opened his coarse pilot jacket, and hid his master's head under it, and so went silently out-with the deformed creature held to his bosom, like a woman sheltering her child.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

I PASSED a sleepless night.

ARIEL

The outrage that had been offered to me was bad enough in

itself. But consequences were associated with it which might affect me more seriously still. In so far as the attainment of the one object of my life might yet depend on my personal association with Miserrimus Dexter, an insurmountable obstacle appeared to be now placed in my way. Even in my husband's interests, ought I to permit a man who had grossly insulted me, to approach me again? Although I was no prude, I recoiled from the thought of it.

I rose late, and sat down at my desk, trying to summon energy enough to write to Mr. Playmore-and trying in vain.

Towards noon (while Benjamin happened to be out for a little while), the housekeeper announced the arrival of another strange visitor at the gate of the villa.

'It's a woman this time, ma'am-or something like one,' said this worthy person, confidentially. A great, stout, awkward, stupid creature, with a man's hat on, and a man's stick in her hand. She says she has got a note for you, and she won't give it to anybody but you. I'd better not let her in-had I?'

Recognising the original of the picture, I astonished the housekeeper by consenting to receive the messenger immediately.

Ariel entered the room-in stolid silence, as usual. But I noticed a change in her which puzzled me. Her dull eyes were red and bloodshot. Traces of tears (as I fancied) were visible on her fat, shapeless cheeks. She crossed the room, on her way to my chair, with a less determined tread than was customary with her. Could Ariel (I asked myself) be woman enough to cry? Was it within the limits of possibility that Ariel should approach me in sorrow and in fear?

'I hear you have brought something for me?' I said. 'Won't you sit down?'

She handed me a letter-without answering, and without taking a chair. I opened the envelope. The letter insid