nearly to a
level with his heavenly-minded mistress. Through misfortune and
mistrust, and evil rumours all around, in spite of opposition from false
friends, and the scorn of slanderous foes, he stood by her more
constantly, perchance more faithfully, than if the course of true-love
had been smoother: he was her escort morning and evening to and from the
prison; his strong arm was the dread of babbling fools that spoke a word
of disrespect against the Actons; and his brave tongue was now making
itself heard, in open vindication of the innocent.

CHAPTER XL.

SUSPICIONS.

YES--Jonathan Floyd was beginning to speak out boldly certain
strange suspicions he had entertained of Jennings. It was a courageous,
a rash, a dangerous thing to do: he did not know but what it might have
jeoparded his life, say nothing of his livelihood: but Floyd did it.

Ever since that inquest, contrived to be so quickly and so quietly got
over, he had noticed Simon's hurried starts, his horrid looks, his
altered mien in all he did and said, his new nervous ways at
nightfall--John Page to sleep in Mr. Jennings's chamber, and a
rush-light perpetually--his shudder whenever he had occasion to call at
the housekeeper's room, and his evident shrinking from the frequent
phrase "Mrs. Quarles's murder."

Then again, Jonathan would often lie awake at nights, thinking over
divers matters connected with his own evidence before the coroner, which
he began to see might be of great importance. Jennings said, he had gone
out to still the dog by the front door--didn't he?--"How then, Mr.
Jennings, did you contrive to push back the top bolt? The Hall chairs
had not come then, and you are a little fellow, and you know that nobody
in the house could reach, without a lift, that bolt but me. Besides,
before Sir John came down, the hinges of that door creaked, like a
litter o' kittens screaming, and the lock went so hard for want of use
and oil, that I'll be sworn your gouty chalkstone fingers could never
have turned it: now, I lay half awake for two hours, and heard no creak,
no key turned; but I tell you what I did hear though, and I wish now I
had said it at that scanty, hurried inquest; I heard what I now believe
were distant screams (but I was so sleepy), and a kind of muffled
scuffling ever so long: but I fancied it might be a horse in the stable
kicking among the straw in a hunter's loose box. I can guess what it was
now--cannot you, Mr. Simon?--I s