"I am glad you are here," said Reginald; "I fancied I might find you somewhere hereabouts."

"And I have been waiting and watching about here for the last two hours. I dared not trust a messenger, and could only take my chance of seeing you."

"You have heard of--of--"

"I have heard everything, I believe."

"What does it mean, Victor?--what does it all mean?"

"It means that you are a wonderfully lucky fellow; and that, instead of waiting thirty years to see your uncle grow a semi-idiotic old dotard, you will step at once into one of the finest estates in England."

"You knew, then, that the will was made last night?"

"Well, I guessed as much."

"You have seen Millard?"

"No, I have not seen Millard."

"How could you know of my uncle's will, then? It was only executed last night."

"Never mind how I know it, my dear Reginald. I do know it. Let that be enough for you."

"It is too terrible," murmured the young man, after a pause; "it is too terrible."

"What is too terrible?"

"This sudden death."

"Is it?" cried Victor Carrington, looking full in his companion's face, with an expression of supreme scorn. "Would you rather have waited thirty years for these estates? Would you rather have waited twenty years?--ten years? No, Reginald Eversleigh, you would not. I know you better than you know yourself, and I will answer for you in this matter. If your uncle's life had lain in your open palm last night, and the closing of your hand would have ended it, your hand would have closed, Mr. Eversleigh, affectionate nephew though you be. You are a hypocrite, Reginald. You palter with your own conscience. Better to be like me and have no conscience, than to have one and palter with it as you do."

Reginald made no reply to this disdainful speech. His own weakness of character placed him entirely in the power of his friend. The two men walked on together in silence.

"You do not know all that has occurred since last night at the castle,"

said Reginald, at last; "Lady Eversleigh has reappeared."

"Lady Eversleigh! I thought she left Raynham yesterday afternoon."

"So it was generally supposed; but this morning she came into the hall, and demanded to be admitted to see her dead husband. Nor was this all.

She publicly declared that he had been murdered, and accused me of the crime. This is terrible, Victor."

"It is terrible, and it must be put an end to at once."

"But how is it to be put an end to?" asked Reginald. "If this woman repeats her accusations, who is to seal her lips?"

"The tables must be turned upon her. If she again accuses you, you must accuse her. If Sir Oswald were indeed murdered, who so likely to have committed the murder as this woman--whose hatred and revenge were, no doubt, excited by her husband's refusal to receive her back, after her disgraceful flight? This is what you have to say; and as every one's opinion is against Lady Eversleigh, she will find herself in rather an unpleasant position, and will be glad to hold her peace for the future upon the subject of Sir Oswald's death."

"You do not doubt my uncle died a natural death, do you, Victor?" asked Reginald, with a strange eagerness. "You do not think that he was murdered?"

"No, indeed. Why should I think so?" returned the surgeon, with perfect calmness of manner. "No one in the castle, but you and Lady Eversleigh, had any interest in his life or death. If he came to his end by any foul means, she must be the guilty person, and on her the deed must be fixed. You must hold firm, Reginald, remember."

The two men parted soon after this; but not before they had appointed to meet on the following day, at the same hour, and on the same spot.

Reginald Eversleigh returned to the castle, gloomy and ill at ease, and on entering the house he discovered that the doctor from Plimborough had arrived during his absence, and was to remain until the following day, when his evidence would be required at the inquest.

It was Joseph Millard who told him this.

"The inquest! What inquest?" asked Reginald.

"The coroner's inquest, sir. It is to be held to-morrow in the great dining-room. Sir Oswald died so suddenly, you see, sir, that it's only natural there should be an inquest. I'm sorry to say there's a talk about his having committed suicide, poor gentleman!"

"Suicide--yes--yes--that is possible; he may have committed suicide,"

murmured Reginald.

"It's very dreadful, isn't it, sir? The two doctors and Mr. Dalton, the lawyer, are together in the library. The body has been moved into the state bed-room."

The lawyer emerged from the library at this moment, and approached Reginald.

"Can I speak with you for a few minutes, Mr. Eversleigh?" he asked.

"Certainly."

He went into the library, where he found the two doctors, and another person, whom he had not expected to see.

This was a country gentleman--a wealthy landed squire and magistrate--whom Reginald Eversleigh had known from his boyhood. His name was Gilbert Ashburne; and he was an individual of considerable importance in the neighbourhood of Raynham, near which village he had a fine estate.

Mr. Ashburne was standing with his back to the empty fireplace, in conversation with one of the medical men, when Reginald entered the room. He advanced a few paces, to shake hands with the young man, and then resumed his favourite magisterial attitude, leaning against the chimney-piece, with his hands in his trousers' pockets.

"My dear Eversleigh," he said, "this is a very terrible affair--very terrible!"

"Yes, Mr. Ashburne, my uncle's sudden death is indeed terrible."

"But the manner of his death! It is not the suddenness only, but the nature--"

"You forget, Mr. Ashburne," interposed one of the medical men, "Mr.

Eversleigh knows nothing of the facts which I have stated to you."

"Ah, he does not! I was not aware of that. You have no suspicion of any foul play in this sad business, eh, Mr. Eversleigh?" asked the magistrate.

"No," answered Reginald. "There is only one person I could possibly suspect; and that person has herself given utterance to suspicions that sound like the ravings of madness."

"You mean Lady Eversleigh?" said the Raynham doctor.

"Pardon me," said Mr. Ashburne; "but this business is altogether so painful that it obliges me to touch upon painful subjects. Is there any truth in the report which I have heard of Lady Eversleigh's flight on the evening of some rustic gathering?"

"Unhappily, the report has only too good a foundation. My uncle's wife did take flight with a lover on the night before last; but she returned yesterday, and had an interview with her husband. What took place at that interview I cannot tell you; but I imagine that my uncle forbade her to remain beneath his roof. Immediately after she had left him, he sent for me, and announced his determination to reinstate me in my old position as his heir. He would not, I am sure, have done this, had he believed his wife innocent."

"And she left the castle at his bidding?"