ar? some crushing disgrace
or misery which threatened her through the murder, and which she feared
to bring upon her husband? The motive I had guessed to be strong as her
love: what if it were her love? Having stepped from surmise to surmise
so far, I paused to strengthen my position by the facts. There were but
two ways in which this murder could have prevented her marriage--through
Merrick's guilt or her own. His innocence was proven; hers I did not
doubt after I had again carefully studied her face. Concealed guilt
leaves its secret signature upon the mouth and eye in lines never to be
mistaken by a man who has once learned to read them.

Were there but these two ways? There was a third, more probable than
either--_fear_. At the first presentation of this key to the riddle the
whole case mapped itself out before me. The murderer had sealed her lips
by some threat. He was still living, and she was in daily expectation of
meeting him. She had never seen his face, but had reason to believe him
of her own class. (This supposition I based on her quick, terrified
inspection of every man's face who approached her.) Now what threat
could have been strong enough to keep a weak girl silent for years, and
to separate her from her lover on their wedding day? I knew women well
enough to say, none against herself; the threat I believed hung over
Merrick's head, and would be fulfilled if she betrayed the secret or
married him, which, with a weak, loving woman, was equivalent, as any
man would know, to betrayal.

I cannot attempt to make the breaks in this reasoning solid ground for
my readers; it was solid ground for me.

The next morning Beardsley met me on leaving the breakfast table. He
held a letter open in his hand, and looked annoyed and anxious.

"Here's a note from Merrick. He sailed a week sooner than he
expected--has left New York, and will be here to-night. If I had only
put the case in your hands earlier! I had a hope that you could clear
the little girl. But it's too late. She'll take flight as soon as she
hears he is coming. Scheffer says it's a miserable, bloody muddle, and
that I was wrong to stir it up."

"I do not agree with Dr. Scheffer," I said quietly. "I am going now to
the library. In half an hour send Miss Waring to me."

"You have not yet been presented to her?"

"So much the better. I wish her to regard me as a lawyer simply. State
to her as formally as you choose who I am, and that I desire to see