ft Mrs. Bensusan she carried it
with her down the country. In proof of the truth, she gave it to the
vicar who wrote down her confession, and he sent it up with the papers
to Scotland Yard. Queer case, isn't it?"

"Very queer, Link. I thought everybody was guilty but Rhoda."

"Ah!" said the detective, significantly, "it is always the least
suspected person who is guilty. I could have sworn that Clyne was the
man. Now it seems that he is innocent, so instead of hanging he will
only be imprisoned for his share in the conspiracy."

"He may escape that way," said Lucian drily, "but, morally speaking, I
regard him as more guilty than Rhoda."

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE END OF IT ALL

Two years after the discovery of Rhoda's guilt, Mr. and Mrs. Denzil were
seated in the garden of Berwin Manor. It was a perfect summer evening,
at the sunset hour, something like that evening when, in the same
garden, almost at the same time, Lucian had asked Diana to be his wife.
But between then and now twenty-four months had elapsed, and many things
had taken place of more or less importance to the young couple.

The mystery of Clear's death had been solved; Lydia had been set free as
innocent of crime; her father, found guilty of conspiracy to obtain the
assurance money, had been condemned to a long term of imprisonment, and,
what most concerned Lucian and Diana, Mark Vrain had really and truly
gone the way of all flesh.

After the conclusion of the Vrain case Lucian had become formally
engaged to Diana, but it was agreed between them that the marriage
should not take place for some time on account of her father's health.
After his discharge as cured from the asylum of Dr. Jorce, Miss Vrain
had taken her father down to his own place in the country, and there
tended him with the most affectionate solicitude, in the hope that he
would recover his health. But the hope was vain, for by his
over-indulgence in morphia, his worrying and wandering, and irregular
mode of life, Vrain had completely shattered his health. He lapsed into
a state of second childhood, and, being deprived of the drugs which
formerly had excited him to a state of frenzy, sank into a pitiable
condition. For days he would remain without speaking to any one, and
even ceased to take a pleasure in his books. Finally his limbs became
paralysed, and so he spent the last few months of his wretched life in a
bath-chair, being wheeled round the garden.

Still, his constitut