"He was very much attached to that poor Miss Arthur of whom you spoke last night," the lady went on to say; "we were living then at Oakingdean; and when she was found murdered, as you know, the shock was too much for him; he went out of the house, poor boy, and took train to London, where he put an end to his existence. I tracked him, and, naturally enough, not unwilling to hush the matter up, I gave out that he was dead—simply dead—no more. No questions were asked, and no falsehoods, therefore, told; and so I have lived for the last five years, holding this secret sacred for my dear son's memory, and confiding it to none—not even to you."
"It is a sad story," said Sir James, "and you do right to keep it back from the world at large. But you should have told me," he added, reverting again to the one point he found so difficult to forgive; "it might have been the cause of much unpleasantness if I had heard it afterward," with emphasis.
"I did wrong," said Mrs. Kinniside, holding out her hand with a well-sustained air of frankness.
"Never mind," Sir James answered, shaking her hand heartily; "I was a little earnest at first, but now it is all explained, and so let the thing rest. I am very sorry for your sake, and we will say no more about it. Perhaps I shall be able to a little make up for your son's loss," with a kindly smile. "I will try."
"Mamma! mamma! I cannot suffer this," said Clementina, coming quickly through the door. "Now, you must say out, frankly, which is the true story—that which you have just told Sir James, or what you told me not half an hour ago."
"Clementina!" murmured her mother, aghast.
"It must be so, mamma," Clementina answered, in a hard, dry tone. "I cannot be a party to all this deception—neither for my own sake, nor Sir James'. Mamma, is poor Tom living or dead? You told me he was living; you tell Sir James he is dead. Which is it? You must speak the truth now."
"Did you not hear what I told Sir James?" asked Mrs. Kinniside, coldly.
"Yes, I heard you tell him that he was dead, not half an hour after you told me he was living, and in concealment, because of his—"
"No! you shall not!" cried Mrs. Kinniside, rising and placing her hand on her daughter's mouth. "You shall not destroy him, if you wilfully destroy yourself!"
"Then he is living?" cried Sir James, on whom the scene was having a strong and painful effect.
Mrs. Kinniside was silent.
"Yes," said Clementina, grasping her mother's wrists to keep down her hands; "he is living, mamma says, in a small village in the north, under another name, to escape the penalty of a fearful crime he once committed."
"Clementina, you have murdered him!" cried Mrs. Kinniside, sinking into a chair.
"No, mamma, I have done him no harm; Sir James will not betray him, and it was only right he should know," she answered, in the same excited and determined manner. "What would have been my life, or his, if he had found all this out when too late? I would have killed myself, or have gone mad!"
Mrs. Kinniside looked at her when she said this, and shuddered visibly.
"Sir James," then continued Clementina, "it was my brother who murdered poor Ellen Arthur—my brother," touching her bosom lightly. "Miss Arthur told me so to-day. She and mamma were the only people in the world who knew it; but I made her tell me, by saying I was going to be married, and how could I marry with a secret hanging over me? and was it right to let any one
