dn't see straight. One moment I hated you, then I
admired you, and the oddest thing of all was that I didn't think about
the actual thing--your having killed Carfax--at all; everything else was
so much more important. I just wanted to be sure that you'd done it and
then--for you to go away and never see any of us again."

Olva smiled.

"Yes," he said.

"But it wasn't until the 5th of November--the 'rag' night--that I was
quite sure. I knew then, when I saw you hitting that fellow, that
you'd killed Carfax. But, of course, that wasn't proof. Then I noticed
Bunning. I saw that he was always with you, and of course it was an
odd sort of friendship for you to have; I could see, too, that he'd got
something on his mind. I went for him--it was all easy enough--and at
last he broke down. Then I'd got you----"

"You've got me," said Olva.

Rupert looked him, slowly, in the face. "You're wonderful!" Then he
added, almost wistfully, "If Margaret hadn't loved you it wouldn't
really any of it have mattered. I suppose that's very immoral, but
that's what it comes to. Margaret's everything in the world to me and
you must tell her."

"Of course I will tell her," Olva said. "That's what I ought to have
done from the beginning. That's what I was _meant_ to do. But I had
to be driven to it. What will you do, Craven, if it doesn't matter to
her--if she doesn't care whether I killed Carfax or no?"

"At least you'll have told her," the boy replied firmly. "At least
she'll know. Then it's for her to decide. She'll do the right thing," he
ended proudly.

"And what do you think that is?" Olva asked him.

"I don't know," he answered. "This seems to have altered everything. I
ought now to be hating you--I don't. I ought to shudder at the sight of
you--I don't. The Carfax business seems to have slipped right back, to
be ages ago, not to matter. All I suppose I wanted was to be reassured
about you--if Margaret loved you. And now I _am_ reassured. I believe
you know what to do."

"Yes, I know what to do," said Olva. "I'm going away to-morrow for a
long time. I shall always love Margaret--there can never be any one
else--but I shall not marry her unless I can come back cleared."

"And who--what--can clear you?"

"Ah! who knows! There'll be something for me to do, I expect. . . . I
will see Margaret to-morrow--and say good-bye."

Craven's face was white, the eyelids had almost closed, his head hung
forward as though it were too heavy