They were the same that she had found attached to Wilson's trunk on the night of her own and Mrs. Garth's visit to the deserted cottage at Fornside. There were perhaps twenty keys in all, but two only bore any signs of recent or frequent use. One of these was marked with a cross scratched roughly on the flat of the ring. The other had a piece of white tape wrapped about the shaft. The rest of the keys were worn red with thick encrustation of rust. And now, by the power of love, this girl with the face of an angel in its sweetness and simplicity--this girl, usually as tremulous as a linnet--was about to do what a callous man might shrink from.

She followed the pack-horse road beyond the lonnin that turned up to Shoulthwaite, and stopped at the gate of the cottage that stood by the smithy near the bridge. Without wavering for an instant, without the quivering of a single muscle, she opened the gate and walked up to the door.

"Mrs. Garth," she called.

A young girl came out. She was a neighbor's daughter.

"Why, she's away, Rotha, Mistress Garth is," said the little la.s.sie.

"Away, Bessy?" said Rotha, entering the house and seating herself. "Do you know where she's gone?"

"Nay, that I don't; but she told mother she'd be away three or four days."

"So you're minding house for her," said Rotha vacantly, her eyes meantime busily traversing the kitchen; they came back to the little housekeeper's face in a twinkling.

"Deary me, what a pretty ribbon that is in your hair, Bessy. Do you know it makes you quite smart. But it wants just a little bow like this--there, there."

The guileless child blushed and smiled, and sidled slyly up to where she could catch a sidelong glance at herself in a scratched mirror that hung against the wall.

"Tut, Bessy, you should go and kneel on the river bank just below, and look at yourself in the still water. Go, la.s.s, and come back and tell me what you think now."

The little maiden's vanity prompted her to go, but her pride urged her to remain, lest Rotha should think her too vain. Pride conquered, and Bessy hung down her pretty head and smiled. Rotha turned wearily about and said, "I'm very thirsty, and I can't bear that well water of Mrs.

Garth's."

"Why, she's not got a well, Rotha."

"Hasn't she? Now, do you know, I thought she had, but it must be 'Becca Rudd's well I'm thinking of."

Bessy stepped outside for a moment, and came back with a basin of water in her hand.

"What sort of water is this, Bessy--river water?" said Rotha languidly, with eyes riveted on an oak chest that stood at one side of the kitchen.

"Oh, no; spring water," said the little one, with many protestations of her shaking head.

"Now, do you know, Bessy--you'll think it strange, won't you?--do you know, I never care for spring water."

"I'll get you a cup of milk," said Bessy.

"No, no; it's river water _I_ like. Just slip away and get me a cup of it, there's a fine la.s.s, and I'll show you how to tie the ribbon for yourself."

The little one tripped off. Vanity reminded her that she could kill two birds with one stone. Instantly she had gone Rotha rose to her feet and drew out the keys. Taking the one with the tape on it, she stepped to the oak chest and tried it on the padlock that hung in front of it. No; that was not the lock it fitted. There was a corner cupboard that hung above the chest. But, no; neither had the cupboard the lock which fitted the key in Rotha's hand.

There was a bedroom leading out of the kitchen. Rotha entered it and looked around. A linen trunk, a bed, and a chair were all that it contained. She went upstairs. There were two bedrooms there, but no chest, box, cabinet, cupboard, not anything having a lock which a key like this might fit.

Bessy would be back soon. Rotha returned to the kitchen. She went again into the adjoining bedroom. Yes, under the bed was a trunk, a ma.s.sive plated trunk. She tried to move it, but it would not stir. She went down on her knees to examine it. It had two padlocks, but neither suited the key. Back to the kitchen, she sat down half bewildered and looked around.

At that instant the little one came in, with a dimple in her rosy cheeks and a cup of water in her hand.

Rotha took the water and tried to drink.

She was defeated once more. She put the keys into her pocket. Was she ever to be one step nearer the heart of this mystery?

She rose wearily and walked out, forgetting to show the trick of the bow to the little housekeeper who stood with a rueful pout in the middle of the floor.

There was one thing left to do; with this other key, the key marked with a cross, she could open Wilson's trunk in her father's cottage, look at the papers, and perhaps discover wherein lay their interest for Mrs. Garth. But first she must examine the two places in the road referred to in the evidence at the trial.

In order to do this at once, Rotha turned towards Smeathwaite when she left the blacksmith's cottage, and walked to the bridge.

The river ran in a low bed, and was crossed by the road at a sharp angle. Hence the bridge lay almost out of sight of persons walking towards it.

Fifty yards to the north of it was the spot where the woman Rushton said she saw the murder. Fifty yards to the south of it was the spot where the body was picked up next morning.

Rotha had reached the bridge, and was turning the angle of the road, when she drew hastily back. Stepping behind a bush for further concealment, she waited. Some one was approaching. It was Mrs. Garth.

The woman walked on until she came to within fifty paces of where Rotha stood. Then she stopped. The girl observed her movements, herself unseen.

Mrs. Garth looked about her to the north and south of the road and across the fields on either hand. Then she stepped into the dike and prodded the ground for some yards and kicked the stones that lay there.

Rotha's breath came and went like a tempest.

Mrs. Garth stooped to look closely at a huge stone that lay by the highway. Then she picked up a smaller stone and seemed to rub it on the larger one, as if she wished to remove a scratch or stain.

Rotha was sure now.

Mrs. Garth stood on the very spot where the crime was said to have been committed. This woman, then, and her son were at the heart of the mystery. It was even as she had thought.

Rotha could hear the beat of her own heart. She plunged from behind the bush one step into the road. Then she drew back.

The day was cold but dry, and Mrs. Garth heard the step in front of her. She came walking on with apparent unconcern. Rotha thought of her father and Ralph condemned to die as innocent men.

The truth that would set them free lay with seething dregs of falsehood at the bottom of this woman's heart. It should come up; it should come up.

When Mrs. Garth had reached the bridge Rotha stepped out and confronted her. The woman gave a little start and then a short forced t.i.tter.

"Deary me, la.s.s, ye mak a ghost of yersel', coming and going sa sudden."

"And you make ghosts of other people." Then, without a moment's warning, Rotha looked close into her eyes and said, "Who killed James Wilson? Tell me quick, quick."

Mrs. Garth flinched, and for the instant looked confused.

"Tell me, woman, tell me; who killed him _there_--there where you've been beating the ground to conceal the remaining traces of a struggle?"

"Go off and ask thy father," said Mrs. Garth, recovering herself; and then she added, with a sneer, "but mind thou'rt quick, or he'll never tell thee in this world." "Nor will you tell me in the next. Woman, woman!" cried Rotha in another tone, "woman, have you any bowels? You have no heart, I know; but can you stand by and be the death of two men who have never, never done you wrong?"

Rotha clutched Mrs. Garth's dress in the agony of her appeal.

"You have a son, too. Think of him standing where they stand, an innocent man."

Rotha had dropped to her knees in the road, still clinging to Mrs.

Garth's dress.