"Bless you," murmured the half stupefied man. "I can't thank you for--Oh! if you only knew all! I want to tell you something."

"Never mind just now," said the old lady, sharply. "Try and get up the stairs supported by Alice and myself. Then we'll put you to bed and give you something to eat."

"Will I be safe?" asked the man, looking round anxiously.

"Quite safe. Do you think I would let you be taken, Bernard?" said Alice, although her soul sickened in her at the deception.

"I--trust--you," said Michael, with a strange look at her. "I am ill and dirty, and--and--but you know I am Bernard," he burst out in a pitiful kind of way.

"Yes, of course you are. Anyone can see that," said Miss Berengaria, as Alice didn't answer. "Help him up, Alice."

The two dragged the man up the stairs painfully, he striving his best to make his weight light. Miss Berengaria approved of this. "He's got good stuff in him," she said, when they led him into the small room, which took up the whole of the second floor of the turret.

"He always had," said Alice, warmly, and for the sake of the comedy.

But Miss Berengaria frowned. She applied what she said to Michael.

Then Miss Berengaria sent Alice downstairs to heat some wine, and made Michael go to bed. He was as weak as a child, and simply let her do what she liked. With some difficulty she managed to put him between the sheets, and then washed his face and hands. Finally, on Alice returning with the wine and some bread, she fed him with sops of the latter dipped into the former. After this, as Michael displayed symptoms of drowsiness, she prepared to leave him to a sound sleep. "And Payne shall see you to-morrow."

"But I'll be safe--safe," said the sick man, half starting up.

"Of course. Lie down and sleep."

Michael strove to say something, then sank back on his pillows. The two hurried out of the room and down the stairs feeling like conspirators.

Not until they were safe in the drawing-room with the door closed did they venture to speak, and then only did so in whispers. Alice was the first to make a remark.

"If I hadn't seen Bernard this very day, I should have been deceived, aunt. Did you ever see so wonderful a likeness?"

"Never," admitted Miss Berengaria. "But how the deuce"--she was always a lady given to strong expressions--"does the man expect to pa.s.s himself off to you as Bernard? There's lots of things Bernard has said about which he must know nothing."

"I can't understand it myself. Perhaps he came to tell the truth."

"Humph!" Miss Berengaria rubbed her nose. "I don't think a man who would commit a murder would tell the truth. My flesh creeped when I touched him. All the same, there's pluck in the fellow. A pity he is such a scamp. Something might be made of him."

"Do you think he has got himself up like this to--"

"No, no!" snapped Miss Plantagenet, "the man's illness is genuine. I can see for myself, he's only skin and bone. I wonder how he came to be in such a plight?"

"Perhaps he will tell us."

"He'll tell lies," said the old lady, grimly. "And for the sake of Bernard we'll pretend to believe him. Wait till I get Durham on to him.

He won't lie then. But the main point is to keep him. He is the only person who can get Bernard out of the trouble."

"What shall we do, aunt?"

"Nurse him up in that room, telling the servants that we have a guest.

They need not see him. And Payne can cure him. When he is cured we will see what Durham says. That young man's clever. He will know how to deal with the matter. It's beyond me. Now we must go to bed. My head is in a whirl with the excitement of this day."

CHAPTER XVII

THE DIARY

Before Miss Berengaria could communicate with Durham, he had left the castle for town. On hearing this from Bernard, the old lady at once sent up to him a full report of the arrival of Michael at the Bower under the name of Gore.

"He is now a trifle better," wrote Miss Berengaria, "but having suffered from great privations he is still ill, and, so far as I can see, is likely to keep to his bed for some time. Payne is attending to him and says he needs careful nursing and tonics.

He is so weak as to be scarcely able to talk, which is perhaps all the better, as Alice and I might arouse his suspicions. We have accepted him as Bernard, and when you come down you can question him either in that character or as Michael. To tell you the truth, I am sorry for the boy--he is only twenty-one or thereabouts, and I think he has been misguided. After all, even he may not have committed the crime, although he was certainly with Sir Simon on that fatal night. The servants--with the exception of my own especial maid, Maria Tait--know nothing of the man's presence in the turret chamber. And you may be sure that I am taking care Jerry Moon learns nothing. But I shall be glad when you can come down to take the matter out of my hands.

I am much worried over it. Conniston comes over daily to see Lucy Randolph at the Hall, but he is so feather-brained a creature that I don't care about entrusting such a secret to him. Nor do I wish Bernard to know. With his impetuosity, he would probably come over at once, and run the chance of arrest.

The whole matter is in your hands, Durham, so write and tell me what I am to do. At all events I have a fast hold of Bernard's double, and you may be sure I shall not allow him to go until this mystery is cleared up."

In reply to this pressing epistle, Durham wrote, telling Miss Berengaria to wait for three or four days. He was advertising for Tolomeo, and hoped to see him at his office. If, as Durham thought, the Italian had been with Sir Simon on that night, something might be learned from him likely to prove the presence of Michael in the room. The examination of Michael--which Durham proposed to make, would then be rendered much easier. The lawyer, in conclusion, quite agreed with Miss Plantagenet that Conniston and Bernard should not be told. "I hope to be with you by the end of the week," he finished.

"Deuce take the man," said Miss Berengaria, rubbing her nose. "Does he think I can wait all that time?"

"I don't see what else you can do, aunt," said Alice, when the letter was read. "And this poor creature is so weak, that I do not think he will be able to speak much for a few days. All we have to do is to nurse him and ask no questions."

"And to let him think we believe him to be Bernard."

"Oh, he is quite convinced of that," said Alice, quickly. "I suppose he hoped I would think his altered looks might induce me to overlook any lack of resemblance to Bernard."

"Yes, but he must guess when you talk you will find him out, seeing you know much of Bernard that he cannot know."

"Perhaps that is why he holds his tongue," said Alice, rising. "But we must wait, aunt."

"I suppose we must," said Miss Berengaria, dolefully. "Drat the whole business! Was there ever such a coil?"

"Well then, aunt, will you leave it alone?"

"Certainly not. I intend to see the thing through. Owing to my reticence to Sir Simon about your parents, Alice, I am really responsible for the whole business, so I will keep working at it until Bernard is out of danger and married to you."

"Ah!" sighed Miss Malleson. "And when will that be?"

"Sooner than you think, perhaps. Every day brings a surprise."

One day certainly brought a surprise to Lucy Randolph. She learned that Conniston loved her, though, to be sure, his frequent visits might have shown her how he was losing his heart. She was glad of this as she admired Conniston exceedingly, and, moreover, wished to escape from her awkward position at the Hall. When Bernard came back and married Alice, she would have to leave the Hall and live on the small income allotted to her by the generosity of the dead man. It would be much better, as she truly thought, to marry Conniston, even though he was the poorest of peers. One can do a lot with a t.i.tle even without money, and Lucy was wise in her generation. Moreover, she was truly in love with the young man, and thought, very rightly, that he would make her a good husband.

As usual, Conniston, having taken into his head that Lucy would be an ideal wife, pursued his suit with characteristic impetuosity. He came over daily--or almost daily--to Gore Hall, and, finally, when Lucy broke off her engagement to Beryl, he told her of the whereabouts of Bernard.

Lucy was overwhelmed and delighted.

"To think that he should be alive after all," she said. "I am so pleased, so glad. Dear Bernard, now he will be able to enjoy the fortune and the t.i.tle, and marry Alice."

"You forget," said Conniston, a trifle dryly, "Bernard has yet to prove his innocence. We are all trying to help him. Will you also give a hand, Miss Randolph?"

Lucy stared at him with widely-open eyes. "Of course I will, Lord Conniston," she said heartily. "What do you wish me to do?"

"In the first place, tell me if you sent a boy to bring Bernard to Crimea Square?"