k. Not from the masterpiece which he used to talk over with Mrs.
Steel, for it will never be written; not from any particular novel or
story, much less in the reproduction of any of these incidents, wherein
he himself played so dubious a part; but perhaps you will find your
answer in a deeper knowledge of the human heart, a stronger grasp of the
realities of life, a keener sympathy with men and (particularly) with
women, than formerly distinguished this writer's books. These, at all
events, are some of the things which Charles Langholm has to show, if he
will only show them. And in the meantime you are requested not to pity
him.

Steel went straight to his wife. Tears were still in her eyes, but such
tears, and such eyes! It cost him an effort to say what he had to say,
and that was unusual in his case.

"Rachel," he said at length, in a tone as new as his reluctance, "I am
going to answer the question which you have so often asked me. I am
going to answer it with perfect honesty, and very possibly you will
never speak to me again. I shall be sorry for both our sakes if you do
anything precipitate, but in any case you shall act as you think best.
You know that I was exceedingly fond of Alec Minchin as a young man;
now, I am not often exceedingly fond of anybody, as you may also know by
this time. Before your trial I was convinced that you had killed my old
friend, whom I was so keen to see again that I came up to town by the
very first train after getting his letter. You had robbed me of the only
friend I had in England at the very moment when he needed me and I was
on my way to him. I could have saved his ship, and you had sent both him
and it to the bottom! That, I say candidly, was what I thought."

"I don't blame you for thinking it before the trial," said Rachel. "It
seems to have been the universal opinion."

"I formed mine for myself, and I had a particular reason for forming
it," continued Steel, with a marked vibration in his usually unemotional
voice. "I don't know which to tell you first.... Well, it shall be that
reason. On the night of the murder do you remember coming downstairs
and going or rather looking into the study--at one o'clock in the
morning?"

Rachel recoiled in her chair.

"Heavens!" she cried. "How can you know that?"

"Did you hear nothing as you went upstairs again?"

"I don't remember."

"Not a rattle at the letter-box?"

"Yes! Yes! Now I do remember. And it was actually you!"