by-faced woman had on the spur of the moment taken
advantage of his loaded gun to wreak her jealousy and her wrongs upon
her faithless lover? Well, the face is no mirror of the quality of the
soul within, and it was possible. Further than that it did not seem to
him to be his business to inquire.

By this time he had reached the Castle. The Squire had gone out but
Ida was in, and he was shown into the drawing-room while the servant
went to seek her. Presently he heard her dress rustle upon the stairs,
and the sound of it sent the blood to his heart, for where is the
music that is more sweet than the rustling of the dress of the woman
whom we love?

"Why, what is the matter?" she said, noticing the disturbed expression
on his face.

"Well," he said, "there has been an accident--a very bad accident."

"Who?" she said. "Not my father?"

"No, no; Mr. Cossey."

"Oh," she said, with a sigh of relief. "Why did you frighten me so?"

The Colonel smiled grimly at this unconscious exhibition of the
relative state of her affections.

"What has happened to him?" asked Ida, this time with a suitable
expression of concern.

"He has been accidentally shot."

"Who by?"

"Mrs. Quest."

"Then she did it on purpose--I mean--is he dead?"

"No, but I believe that he will die."

They looked at one another, and each read in the eyes of the other the
thought which passed through their brains. If Edward Cossey died they
would be free to marry. So clearly did they read it that Ida actually
interpreted it in words.

"You must not think that," she said, "it is very wrong."

"It is wrong," answered the Colonel, apparently in no way surprised at
her interpretation of his thoughts, "but unfortunately human nature is
human nature."

Then he went on to tell her all about it. Ida made no comment, that is
after those first words, "she did it on purpose," which burst from her
in astonishment. She felt, and he felt too, that the question as to
how that gun went off was one which was best left uninquired into by
them. No doubt if the man died there would be an inquest, and the
whole matter would be investigated. Meanwhile one thing was certain,
Edward Cossey, whom she was engaged to, was shot and likely to die.

Presently, while they were still talking, the Squire came in from his
walk. To him also the story was told, and to judge from the expression
of his face he thought it grave enough. If Edward Cossey died the
mortgages over the