Good night!"

"Wait just one minute, Cicely! Come into my room--I won't shut the
door!"

"Certainly not!" she said emphatically.

"Well then, don't speak so loudly! I must confide in you, Cicely; I'm
getting desperate. My position is really serious. Something's got to
happen! If you would only give me your sympathy----"

"I thought you were writing," she interrupted.

"I've been trying to, but----"

"Well, write all this down and read it to me to-morrow," she smiled.
"Good night!"

"The blame be on your head!" began the author dramatically, but the slim
figure was already moving away, throwing him a parting smile that seemed
to wound his sensitive soul afresh.

XI

NEWS

Even in that scattered countryside of long distances by windy roads,
with scarcely ever a village as a focus for gossip, news flew fast. The
next morning Ned Cromarty had set out with his gun towards a certain
snipe marsh, but while he was still on the high road he met a man on a
bicycle. The man had heard strange news and stopped to pass it on, and
the next moment Ned was hurrying as fast as his long legs could take him
back to the castle.

He saw his sister only for a moment.

"Lilian!" he cried, and the sound of his voice made her start and stare
at him. "There's a story that Sir Reginald was murdered last night."

"Murdered!" she repeated in a low incredulous voice. "Ridiculous, Ned!
Who told you?"

"I only know the man by sight, but he seemed to believe it right
enough."

"But how--who did it?"

Her brother shook his head.

"Don't know. He couldn't tell me. My God, I hope it's not true! I'm off
to see."

A few minutes later he was driving his mare headlong for his kinsman's
house. It had begun to rain by this time, and the mournful wreaths of
vapour that swept over the bare, late autumnal country and drove in fine
drops against his face sent his spirits down ever lower as the mare
splashed her way along the empty miles of road. The melancholy thrumming
of the telegraph wires droned by his side all the while, and as this
dirge waxed for the moment as they passed each post, his eye would
glance grimly at those gaunt poles. Very suitable and handy for a
certain purpose, they struck him--if by any possibility this tale were
true.

He knew the worst when he saw Bisset at the door.

"Thank God, you've come, sir," said the butler devoutly. "The master
would have expected it of you."

"How did it happen? What does it