ed for even at
the cost of crime.

And now to think that the man who lay dead was just a bricklayer's
son! It was absolutely incredible. Not till a few moments later did
the spectators realize that, if the seedy man at the table spoke
truly, then they were witnessing a drama even more poignant than that
of the original murder; a drama of deception and of fraud, and a
mystery far deeper than that which had originally confronted the
sensation mongers.

Strangely enough, incredulity died down, and died down very quickly. A
subtle wave filled the murky atmosphere compelling every mind to
belief, long before the man's assertions were proved to be correct.
The most indifferent became conscious of an overwhelming conviction
that the witness was speaking the truth.

This conviction was absolutely paramount in the minds of the chief
actors in the play. To them all, to Colonel Harris and to Louisa, to
Mr. Dobson and the solicitors, the truth of the statement was never in
question. An unerring instinct forced them to believe: and such
beliefs are as unconquerable as they are overwhelming. Truth that is
an absolute, unquestionable truth finds its way to the mind, when the
latter is attuned to subtle or psychic impressions.

And as the truth was borne in upon these people, so did they realize
the fulness of its meaning, the deep significance of its portent.

To some of them it seemed as if in a brilliantly illuminated world,
all the lights had suddenly been extinguished: to others, as if in a
dark and intricate cavern, full of black, impenetrable shadows,
dazzling lights had been suddenly switched on.

Louisa, looking across at Luke, saw that to him it meant the latter,
and that some of the new, dazzling light had illumined the darkness of
his soul.

Something of the tense rigidity of his attitude had gone from him: not
the sorrow perhaps, but the blank hopelessness of a misery that
flounders in a sea of the unknown.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE WORLD IS SO LARGE

As for the man who had made the extraordinary assertion, he seemed
quite unconscious of the effect which it had produced: as if the fact
that the supposed heir to an earldom, being actually the son of a
Clapham bricklayer, was one that found its natural place in every-day
life.

He had his cap in his hand--a shabby, gray tweed cap--and he was
twirling it between his fingers round and round with an irritatingly
nervous gesture. His eyes now and again were furt