Unaware of the tragedy which had taken place at Eastbourne, Captain Larcher was in London brooding over his wrongs, and weaving schemes how to avenge himself on Hilliston. His eyes had been opened by Tait with regard to the conduct of that gentleman, and he now saw plainly that he had been Hilliston's dupe for all these years. Indeed, he began to share Tait's opinion that the lawyer was guilty, and was casting about in his own mind how to prove this, when an announcement in the papers informed him of the death of Mrs. Hilliston.

"The smallpox killed her, no doubt," said Tait, when he had expressed his regrets.

"No!" remarked Claude, who had been looking over the general news. "It was a case of suicide."

"Suicide!" exclaimed the hearers, in one breath.

"Yes, according to this paragraph. It appears that in some way or another she became possessed of a bottle of laudanum while the nurse was absent. The woman returned to find her patient dead. Poor Mrs. Hilliston!" added Claude, folding up the paper with a sigh. "How sorry I am to hear this."

"I wonder why she committed suicide?" said Tait meditatively. "She looked too determined a woman to yield to such a weakness."

"No doubt she found out that her husband was guilty of the crime," said Larcher grimly, "and so did not care to live longer with a murderer."

"You are wrong, father," observed Claude, looking up; "it was the knowledge that she had lost her looks which killed her. Depend upon it, she took the poison so as to avoid dragging out her days a scarred and miserable object."

"How do you know that, Claude?" asked his father, with a curious look on his face.

"Because not once, but twice, or thrice, Mrs. Hilliston told me she would kill herself rather than grow old and ugly. The loss of beauty came with the smallpox; and so she has carried out her resolve."

"It will be a blow to Hilliston."

"I don't think so," said Captain Larcher rather cynically. "From what I remember of Louisa Sinclair, the love was all on her side. No doubt he married her when she was Mrs. Derrick purely for her money. No! No! I quite believe the story of Mona Bantry. She was and is the woman of his love. Now the wife is dead he can console himself with the mistress."

"That reminds me," observed Claude suddenly. "What are we to do about Jenny? Is she to be informed that her mother is yet alive?"

Captain Larcher shook his head. "Set your mind at rest on that point," he said with a nod. "I told Mrs. Bezel that Jenny was about to become your wife; that she thinks her parents are dead; and I pointed out that it would be unwise to mar the happiness of the girl by letting her know the truth. Mrs. Bezel agrees with me, and she has consented that things shall remain as they are."

"Does she not want to see Jenny, father?"

"Of course she does. It is only natural, poor soul, but she loves her child sufficiently to avoid casting a shadow on her life. Jenny will never know that Jeringham was her father or that her mother is still alive. She will marry you, Claude, as Miss Kennedy, and know no more of her connection with the matter than she does at present."

"And Denis?"

"Denis has been told. I wrote him two days ago, and I have no doubt he will come up to town to see the last of his wretched sister."

"The last of her?"

"Can you doubt it? Mrs. Bezel has death written on her face."

"Another blow for Hilliston," said Tait, in a rather regretful tone. Villain as he knew the lawyer to be, he could not help feeling sorry for his troubles. Fate had held her hand a long time, but now she was dealing a full measure, and pouring the vials of her wrath on the head of the sinner.

"It will be a heavier blow than the last," said Larcher, in a severe tone, "for there is no doubt Hilliston truly loves Mona."

"I suppose Denis will object to his going near her again."

"It is impossible to say. We must leave that to the man himself."

This conversation took place in Tait's rooms one morning some three weeks after the momentous interview with Mrs. Bezel. It had been Captain Larcher's intention to return at once to Thorston, but he had been dissuaded from this by his son, who thought a few weeks in town would do his father good. There was no doubt on this point, for Captain Larcher brisked up wonderfully in the exhilarating atmosphere of the West End. But for the unexplained mystery of Jeringham's death, he would have been quite happy in the recovered society of his son, and even while the future was still black enjoyed himself in no small degree. It did Claude good to see that his father was at length getting some pleasure out of life, after his years of incessant trouble and wearing anxiety.

The next day Denis, looking older and grayer than ever, came up to see his sister. He saw his master for a few minutes, and then went on to Hampstead.

"I have told Denis how ill she is," explained Captain Larcher, as the man took his departure, "and he has promised to be as lenient as possible toward her wrong-doing. By the way, Hilliston is in town."

"Hilliston!"

"Yes. He came up in the same train as Denis, and had the impudence to speak to him. Asked him where I was, as he wanted to see me."

"To see you, father?" cried Claude, in astonishment. "What for?"

"I think I can guess," interposed Tait quietly, "Hilliston has been stricken by his wife's death, and wants to atone for his sins by confessing the truth. I would not be surprised if he called here this afternoon."

Captain Larcher looked skeptical, but said nothing, and the matter dropped for the time being. As it happened Denis was still ignorant that his sister had been the mistress of the lawyer, else there might have been trouble. He had but a confused idea of Hilliston's connection with the case, and, beyond knowing that he was the owner of the garnet scarfpin, could not conceive that he had been actually present in the garden when the murder was committed. True it was that the scarfpin had been found on the spot where the corpse of Jeringham had lain, but assured by his master that Hilliston was innocent, as Captain Larcher had truly believed these many years, Denis never gave the matter a second thought. Now he would learn the truth from Mrs. Bezel.

Denis only came back in the afternoon, looking much put out. The ruin of his much loved sister by Jeringham had been a great blow to him, but the discovery that she was alive and had been living in sin with Hilliston startled him considerably. He could hardly reply to the questions of his master, but ultimately related that they had parted friends. Mrs. Bezel had told him that the doctor assured her she could not live much longer; and in the shadow of death Denis had freely forgiven her all her sins and follies.

"And, indeed, sir, what else could I do," said Denis, wiping the tears from his eyes, "when I saw the poor thing lying there like a corpse? It's a bitter time she's had of it, these last ten years, in that death-in-life state. Oh yes, captain, I forgave her freely, poor soul!"

"And Hilliston?" asked Larcher inquiringly.

"May his black soul burn," cried Denis, with a scowl. "Were I or he younger I'd leave my mark on him. Mona had a letter from him saying he was calling to see her this evening, but that he had an appointment with you, sir."

"With me, Denis! It is the first I have heard of it. Where is he?"

At this moment, as if in response to his question, the door opened and Tait appeared, looking very disturbed.

"Mr. Hilliston is here, Captain Larcher, and wishes to speak with you."

Claude had entered the room by another door, and, on hearing this, stepped forward looking slightly pale. He slipped his arm within that of his father, as though to protect the elder man. Then they all waited to hear what Captain Larcher had to say. The permission for the interview must come from the man who had been most deeply wronged. He thought for a moment or so with a frown on his face, then sank into a chair with a deep sigh.

"Denis, stand behind me," he said, in a peremptory tone. "Claude, sit down yonder. Now, Mr. Tait, we are ready to see our friend."

Tait anticipated this permission, and was already prepared for it. Without a word he threw open the door, and Hilliston, dressed in deep mourning, entered the room with a paper in his hand. He looked pale and worn, his fresh color was gone, and as he spoke he kept his eyes persistently on the ground. It could be easily seen that the man had received a shock from which he would not easily recover.

"I have called to see you and deliver this," he said, in a low tone, placing the paper he carried on the table. "I do not ask your forgiveness, Larcher, for I do not consider I have done anything to justify your anger against me."

"You could have saved me all these years of anguish by telling me the truth," said Larcher indignantly.

"Perhaps! But it was not to my interest to tell you the truth."

"I don't wonder at that," said Claude bitterly. "You were afraid of the law."

"Perhaps," said Hilliston again. "On the other hand I may not be so guilty as you think me. You will find the truth in that paper."

He pointed toward the table, and the eyes of all immediately turned in that direction, while Hilliston moved toward the door.

"Having fulfilled the promise I made to my dead wife, I now take my leave," he said quietly. "I will never see any of you again, and some day you may learn that you have misjudged me. Good-by."

He opened the door, but before he could pass through Denis sprang forward.

"My sister?" he said, with an indignant look in his eyes.

"I am about to repair the wrong I did her," replied the lawyer gravely. "By to-morrow she will be my wife."

CHAPTER XLIV
THE TRUTH

Hilliston came and went in the space of a few minutes. None of those present made any attempt to stay his exit, but as the door closed after him they looked at one another in silence. Thinking of Hilliston's last speech, Denis was the first to speak.

"What does that mean, sir?" he asked his master, with an air of helpless bewilderment.

"I think it can only mean one thing, Denis," replied Larcher, rousing himself. "Mr. Hilliston has at length awakened to the fact of his dastardly treatment of your sister, and is about to make reparation for the past. He intends to marry her."

"But his wife only died a few days ago, master."

"I know that. But Mrs. Bezel will also die shortly, and if Hilliston desires to atone for the past he has no time to lose. He can marry her at once, but he will again be a widower within the month."

Denis lifted a pair of shaking hands, and slowly left the room, followed by the sympathetic looks of the others. He did not even pause to learn the contents of the sealed envelope left by Mr. Hilliston. Great as was his curiosity to learn all that had taken place on that fatal night, his love and grief for his sister were greater still. Bowed and gray and older-looking than ever, he departed; but in his heart there was one comfortable thought – Mona would die an honest woman, if Mr. Hilliston was to be believed.

When the three found themselves alone, Captain Larcher picked up the sealed letter with some reluctance.

"Strange," he said, balancing it in his hand. "For years I have been eager to know the truth. Now that I have only to open this envelope to learn it, I feel half afraid."

"Nevertheless, it will be as well to lose no time in making ourselves acquainted with the contents," said Tait eagerly, for he was in a fever of impatience to know all. "It may be a confession by Hilliston."

"I think not. It is directed to me in the handwriting of Mrs. Hilliston."

"To Ferdinand Paynton?"

"No. To Captain Larcher."

"H'm!" said Tait, with a start. "How did Mrs. Hilliston know you were Captain Larcher? Did she see you at Thorston?"

"No. But her husband doubtless informed her of my real name. However, we will learn all from this," said Larcher, breaking the seal. "I believe this is a confession by Mrs. Hilliston."

"But what can she have to confess?" cried Claude, as his father smoothed out a closely written letter. "She can know nothing of the tragedy."

"You forget," said Tait, with a sudden recollection, "Louisa Sinclair; she was at Horriston, and, according to Mona Bantry, was in the garden of The Laurels on that night. I would not be surprised if she saw the committal of the crime."

"What! Do you think she is about to betray her husband?"

"Oh," said Tait significantly, "we are by no means sure of Hilliston's guilt!"

Larcher found that the writing was too small for him to read comfortably, so handed the letter to Claude, with a request that he should read it out aloud. Excusing himself on the plea of the illegibility of the writing, Claude passed it to Tait, who accepted the office with avidity. The letter was without date or direction, and began in an abrupt manner, highly suggestive of the agitation under which it had been written. Tait mentally noted these points, and began.

"This confession is to be read after my death by Captain George Larcher, and, if he sees fit, he has my free permission to make it public. Still I trust out of regret for the memory of an unhappy woman that he will not do so save in the arising of two contingencies. First, should he be still alive, and accused of murdering Mr. Jeringham. Second, should my dear husband be accused of the crime. In the event of the occurrence of either of these contingencies, I authorize him to make these pages public.

"To explain myself I must go back twenty-six years, when I was residing at Horriston. You, Captain Larcher, will remember me well as Louisa Sinclair, for at that time I saw a great deal of yourself and your wife. I saw too much of her, for my eyes were sharp, and, but for a natural reluctance to disturb your domestic peace, I could have enlightened you as to her conduct. She was never worthy of a good man like you. She was as bad as I afterward became, and that is saying a great deal, as you will see by reading on.

"I loved Francis Hilliston, your intimate friend. Belinda Pike loved him also, but there was no need for either of us to be jealous of the other, for Mr. Hilliston loved a third person; none other than your wife. No doubt you will be angry when you read this, but your anger cannot alter facts. Yes, your dearest friend loved your wife. Let him deny that if he can."

At this point there was a marginal note by Hilliston: "I do deny it, and but that I am not in a position to do so I would not let George Larcher's eyes rest on this confession. My poor wife was insanely jealous of Mrs. Larcher, but I swear that she had no grounds to be so. I admired Mrs. Larcher as a friend, nothing more, and I loved Mona Bantry. She is the only woman who has ever attracted me, and, notwithstanding my marriage, now dissolved by death, she attracts me still."

This note was hastily scribbled in pencil, and after Tait had read it, without interruption from Captain Larcher, he continued the confession:

"I admit that I was jealous of his attentions to your wife," continued Mrs. Hilliston, "for though I did all in my power I could not win him to my side. Regarding the efforts of Belinda Pike, I say nothing. She tried to gain his love, and she failed. I was more successful in the end, but not till the lapse of many years. Here I may say that I have gypsy blood in my veins, which at times renders me insanely jealous, and in such a state I am capable of all things. A recollection of this may enlighten you as to my acting as I did in the garden of The Laurels.

"I knew that your wife loved Jeringham, and could have told you of it. I am sorry I did not now, as she would have been disgraced, and then Francis might have turned to me for consolation. But I held my peace, and paid the cost of doing so. I am doing so now; you also; for if you had been forewarned you would never have had to conceal yourself under a feigned name on account of Jeringham's death.

"At the fancy dress ball held at the Town Hall, matters came to a climax. My gypsy blood made me mad on that night, owing to the way in which I was neglected by Francis Hilliston. With some difficulty I learned that your wife was to be dressed as Mary, Queen of Scots, and, with a view to making myself attractive in Hilliston's eyes, I chose the same dress. With the assistance of the dressmaker who worked for us both, I obtained a dress similar in all respects to that of Mrs. Larcher, hoping that by doing so he would speak to me under the impression that I was your wife. My stratagem was successful. I was masked and dressed as she was; he spoke to me, thinking I was she, and I learned then how he loved her. At that moment I could have killed her. I could have killed him."

Here there was another note in Hilliston's handwriting: "Again I say that the poor creature was mistaken. I did speak to her under the impression that she was Mrs. Larcher, but I said nothing that she could construe into a declaration of love. Her jealousy rendered her mad, and she distorted the idle words I spoke. She took them up in the wrong sense."

"My suspicions were confirmed later on," continued the confession, "for I overheard them talking together; yes, Francis Hilliston and your wife were in a corner together, talking of love. I listened. It was mean to do so; but then, I was in love and would have stooped to any degradation to have rescued him from her clutches. They talked about a dagger which he had given her to complete her dress. Aha! he did not think to complete my costume with such a gift. Mrs. Larcher took the dagger out of its sheath and together they examined it. She blamed him for putting an inscription on it, saying it would make her husband jealous. Francis laughed, and said that you would never suspect him. Then Mrs. Larcher slipped the dagger back in the sheath, as she thought; but in reality it slipped down among the folds of her dress, and when she arose to go it fell on the ground. They departed, and I picked up the dagger.

"At once I looked at the inscription, and there it was on the gold handle – 'To J. L., from F. H.' I was so enraged that I could have broken the dagger. I tried to, but it was too strong for me. Therefore I thrust it into my waistband and went in search of Hilliston to return it to him, and reproach him for giving it to Mrs. Larcher. I saw him, wrapped in his cloak, go out with Mrs. Larcher. He was seeing her home, and in a frenzy of jealous rage I resolved to follow."

Margin note by Hilliston: "It was not I who went home with Mrs. Larcher, but Jeringham. I was dressed that evening as a Venetian senator, and wore a long black cloak. This Jeringham borrowed from me to conceal his fancy dress when he left the Town Hall. My wife thought it was me, but she was mistaken. I went home with George Larcher, as he knows."

The confession continues: "They left in Mrs. Larcher's carriage, and I, hastily wrapping a cloak round me, followed in a fly. When I got to The Laurels they were talking together at the door, and the carriage had driven round to the stables. I sat back in my fly, for the driver did not know who I was, and watched. I saw Mrs. Larcher kiss Hilliston and run inside. Then I went out of my mind – I was possessed by a devil. He came down the path and turned midway to look back at the house. I had my hand on the dagger – it tempted me, and I sprang out on him. He turned sharply round, and had I not been blinded with rage I would have then recognized him. But I hardly knew what I was doing, and, before he could utter a word, I buried the dagger in his heart, when he fell with a choking cry. I knelt down beside him, and withdrew the dagger. Then I heard a sound, dropped the weapon, and fled.

"Some little distance off I ran into the arms of Francis Hilliston. I shrieked as though I had seen a ghost, and told him I had killed a man – that I had intended to kill him. He explained the mistake of the cloak, and said I must have murdered Jeringham. Then he saved my life. No one had seen me come to The Laurels, no one had seen me in the garden; so Francis took me back to Horriston, and I returned to the ball without anyone having suspected my absence.

"The next day the news of the disappearance of Jeringham was all over the town; afterward the body was discovered down the river, and mistaken for that of Mr. Larcher. Francis advised me for my own sake to hold my tongue. I did so, and shortly afterward I went on a visit to a sister of mine in America. Francis refused to marry me on account of my crime. In America I married Derrick, the millionaire; he died, and I returned to London. I found Francis greatly in want of money, and as I still loved him, I married him. No one but us two knew who really killed Jeringham, but for your sake, Captain Larcher, I acknowledge my guilt lest you should be found out and accused of the crime. I could say much more, but this is enough. When you read this I will be dead, and my last words I swear are true. I and none other killed Mark Jeringham in mistake for Francis Hilliston."

Note by Hilliston: "It will be seen that my wife was actuated all through by jealousy, but I swear she had no reason. I loved Mona, not Mrs. Larcher, nor her. I saved her life because she committed the crime for my sake; I married her because I was on the verge of pecuniary ruin. I have nothing more to add. You can blame me if you like, but I consider I have acted all through as I was forced by circumstances."