oncluded that she had made use of a candle, as
the curl had been noticeable under her veil."

Oh, the weariness in his tone! I could scarcely interpret it. Was
he talking by rote, or was he utterly done with life and all its
interests? No one besides myself seemed to note this strange
passivity. To the masses he was no longer a suffering man, but an
individual from whom information was to be got. The next question
was a vital one.

He had accounted for one candle in the house; could he account for
the one found in the tumbler or for the one lying crushed and
battered on the closet floor?

He could not.

And now we all observed a change of direction in the inquiry.
Witnesses were summoned to corroborate Mr. Jeffrey's statements,
statements which it seemed to be the coroner's present wish to
establish. First came the grocer who had sold Mr. Jeffrey the
candles. He acknowledged, much to Jinny's discomfort, that an hour
after Mr. Jeffrey had left the store, he had found on the counter
the package which that gentleman had forgotten to take. Poor Jinny
had not stayed long enough to hear his story out. The grocer
finished his testimony by saying that immediately upon his
discovery he had sent the candles to Mr. Jeffrey's house.

This the coroner caused to be emphasized to such an extent that we
were all convinced of its importance. But as yet his purpose was
not evident save to those who were more in his confidence than myself.

The other witnesses were men from Rauchers, who had acted as waiters
at the time of the marriage. One of them testified that immediately
on Miss Moore's arrival he had been sent for a candle and a box of
matches. The other, that he had carried up to her room a large
candelabrum from the drawing-room mantel. A pair of curling tongs
taken from the dressing table of this room was next produced,
together with other articles of toilet use which had been allowed
to remain there uncared for, though they were of solid silver and
of beautiful design.

The next witness was a member of Mr. Jeffrey's own household. Chloe
was her name, and her good black face worked dolefully as she
admitted that the package of candles which the grocer boy had left
on the kitchen table, with the rest of the groceries on the morning
of that dreadful day when "Missus" killed herself, was not to be
found when she came to put the things away. She had looked and
looked for it, but it was not there.

Further inq