take the place of painted ones; and, besides, I was
not ready to acknowledge that my own capacity for ferreting out this
mystery was quite exhausted, or that I ought to remain idle while
Lucetta bent under a task so much beyond her strength. So deeply was I
impressed by this latter consideration, that I found myself, even in the
midst of my apparent interest in what was going on at Mother Jane's
cottage, asking if I was bound to accept the defeat pronounced upon my
efforts by Mr. Gryce, and if there was not yet time to retrieve myself
and save Lucetta. One happy thought, or clever linking of cause to
effect, might lead me yet to the clue which we had hitherto sought in
vain. And then who would have more right to triumph than Amelia
Butterworth, or who more reason to apologize than Ebenezar Gryce! But
where was I to get my happy thought, and by what stroke of fortune could
I reasonably hope to light upon a clue which had escaped the penetrating
eye of my quondam colleague? Lucetta's gesture and Lucetta's
exclamation, "He passed that way!" indicated that her suspicions pointed
in the direction of Deacon Spear's cottage; so did William's wandering
accusations: but this was little help to me, confined as I was to the
Knollys demesnes, both by Mr. Gryce's command and by my own sense of
propriety. No, I must light on something more tangible; something
practical enough to justify me in my own eyes for any interference I
might meditate. In short, I must start from a fact, and not from a
suspicion. But what fact? Why, there was but one, and that was the
finding of certain indisputable tokens of crime in Mother Jane's
keeping. That was a clue, a clue, to be sure, which Mr. Gryce, while
ostensibly following it in his present action, really felt to lead
nowhere, but which I--Here my thoughts paused. I dare not promise myself
too satisfactory results to my efforts, even while conscious of that
vague elation which presages success, and which I could only overcome by
resorting again to reasoning. This time I started with a question. Had
Mother Jane committed these crimes herself? I did not think so; neither
did Mr. Gryce, for all the persistence he showed in having the ground
about her humble dwelling-place turned over. Then, how had the ring of
Mr. Chittenden come to be in her possession, when, as all agreed, she
never was known to wander more than forty rods away from home? If the
crime by which this young gentleman had perished had t