herefore he took her in his arms and hastily inquired what
had occurred.

"He's dead--I believe!" gasped one of the footmen, in French.

"Jean! What has happened?" Bracondale demanded, in amazement. "Tell me,
dearest."

But she was too agitated to speak. She only clung to him and, burying
her face upon his shoulder, sobbed hysterically, while Miss Oliver
rushed away for a smelling-bottle.

"Who is this man?" Bracondale asked in a hard voice. "What is the
matter? The servants heard a shot just after I came in. They came to me
in the study--but I had heard nothing."

She raised her wild eyes to his, and then glanced round the pretty
apartment. Her gaze fell upon Ralph Ansell's dead face, and she
shuddered and shrank back. Her mouth was twitching. She was hysterical,
and could say nothing.

"Tell me, Jean. What does all this mean?" asked Bracondale, very
quietly, considering the circumstances.

"Ah! no dear!" she cried. "Don't ask me--don't ask me! I--I killed him!"

"Killed him!" echoed her husband blankly. "What do you mean? You are not
yourself, dearest."

She looked at the servants meaningly.

"Will you leave us alone?" Bracondale said, turning to them just as Miss
Oliver returned with the bottle of smelling-salts.

They all left the room, including the governess, husband and wife being
left with the dead man.

"Tell me, darling, what has occurred?" asked Bracondale in a soft,
sympathetic voice, endeavouring to calm her.

For a long time she refused to answer. She could not bring herself to
speak a lie to him, not even a white lie! The night had been so full of
horror and tragedy that she was beside herself. She wondered whether it
were not, after all, a horrible dream.

Yet no! It was true. Ralph Ansell was dead. He had carried his secret
with him to the grave, and she was free--free! She was really Lady
Bracondale, the mother of Bracondale's child!

She had been at the point of confessing. But no. Bracondale must know
nothing.

"You killed this man, Jean?" her husband was saying in a low, intense
voice. "Why?"

"I--I--he attacked me, and I----"

She did not conclude her sentence.

"Why, your neck is all black and blue!" Bracondale said, noticing it for
the first time.

"He tried to strangle me, then he intended to shoot me," she said
hysterically. "We struggled--and--and it--it went off!"

"But who is he?"

"How can I tell?" she asked frantically. "I came in here unexpectedly,
and saw h