l
deed than my grandson would be!"

Carteret smiled sadly.

"I am sorry, Mr. Delamere," he said, "that you should permit yourself to
be so exercised about a worthless scoundrel who has forfeited his right
to live. The proof against him is overwhelming. As to his capability of
crime, we will apply your own test. You have been kept in the dark too
long, Mr. Delamere,--indeed, we all have,--about others as well as this
negro. Listen, sir: last night, at the Clarendon Club, Tom Delamere was
caught cheating outrageously at cards. He had been suspected for some
time; a trap was laid for him, and be fell into it. Out of regard for
you and for my family, he has been permitted to resign quietly, with the
understanding that he first pay off his debts, which are considerable."

Mr. Delamere's face, which had taken on some color in the excitement of
the interview, had gradually paled to a chalky white while Carteret was
speaking. His head sunk forward; already an old man, he seemed to have
aged ten years in but little more than as many seconds.

"Can this be true?" he demanded in a hoarse whisper. "Is it--entirely
authentic?"

"True as gospel; true as it is that Mrs. Ochiltree has been murdered,
and that this negro killed her. Ellis was at the club a few minutes
after the affair happened, and learned the facts from one of the
participants. Tom made no attempt at denial. We have kept the matter out
of the other papers, and I would have spared your feelings,--I surely
would not wish to wound them,--but the temptation proved too strong for
me, and it seemed the only way to convince you: it was your own test. If
a gentleman of a distinguished name and an honorable ancestry, with all
the restraining forces of social position surrounding him, to hold him
in check, can stoop to dishonor, what is the improbability of an
illiterate negro's being at least capable of crime?"

"Enough, sir," said the old gentleman. "You have proved enough. My
grandson may be a scoundrel,--I can see, in the light of this
revelation, how he might be; and he seems not to have denied it. I
maintain, nevertheless, that my man Sandy is innocent of the charge
against him. He has denied it, and it has not been proved. Carteret, I
owe that negro my life; he, and his father before him, have served me
and mine faithfully and well. I cannot see him killed like a dog,
without judge or jury,--no, not even if he were guilty, which I do not
believe!"

Carteret felt a