seemed that I could laugh then," added
Robin, looking at Mr. Verner, as if he deemed an apology for the words
necessary. "My mind was set at rest."

Did a thought cross Lionel Verner that John Massingbird, finding his own
life in peril from Robin's violence, had thrown the blame upon his
brother falsely? It might have done so, but for his own deeply-rooted
suspicions. That John would not be scrupulously regardful of truth, he
believed, where his own turn was to be served. Lionel, at any rate, felt
that he should like, for his own satisfaction, to have the matter set at
rest, and he took his way to Verner's Pride.

John Massingbird, his costume not improved in elegance, or his clay pipe
in length, was lounging at his ease on one of the amber damask satin
couches of the drawing-room, his feet on the back of a proximate chair,
and his slippers fallen off on the carpet. A copious tumbler of
rum-and-water--his favourite beverage since his return--was on a table,
handy; and there he lay enjoying his ease.

"Hollo, old fellow! How are you?" was his greeting to Lionel, given
without changing his position in the least.

"Massingbird, I want to speak to you," rejoined Lionel. "I have been to
see old Matthew Frost, and he has said something which surprises me--"

"The old man's about to make a start of it, I hear," was the
interruption of Mr. Massingbird.

"He cannot last long. He has been speaking--naturally--of that unhappy
business of his daughter's. He lays it to the door of Frederick; and
Robin tells me he had the information from you."

"I was obliged to give it him, in self-defence," said John Massingbird.
"The fellow had got it into his head, in some unaccountable manner, that
I was the black sheep, and was prowling about with a gun, ready capped
and loaded, to put a bullet into me. I don't set so much store by my
life as some fidgets do, but it's not pleasant to be shot off in that
summary fashion. So I sent for Mr. Robin and satisfied him that he was
making the same blunder that Deerham just then was making--mistaking one
brother for the other."

"_Was_ it Frederick?"

"It was."

"Did you know it at the time?"

"No. Never suspected him at all."

"Then how did you learn it afterwards?"

John Massingbird took his legs from the chair. He rose, and brought
himself to an anchor on a seat facing Lionel, puffing still at his
incessant pipe.

"I don't mind trusting you, old chap, being one of us, and I couldn'