A more miserable home-coming than Godfrey’s, after the events described in the previous chapter, could scarcely be imagined. They had taken a cab from the lawyer’s office to Euston Station, and during the drive, neither of them referred in any way to the interview they had just had with Codey. It was not until they were seated in the railway carriage, and the train had started upon its journey, that they broke their silence.

“Sir Vivian,” said Godfrey, “I can not express to you my thanks for the kindness which you showed me in standing by me to-day. Believe me, I am very sensible of it.”

“You must not speak of it;” said the worthy old gentleman; “and as for the affair itself, it is a piece of ill-luck that might have happened to the best of us. At the same time, I should very much like to have an opportunity of telling that wretched Fensden what I think of him.”

“Do not let us talk of him,” said Godfrey. “His own feelings must be sufficient punishment for him. There is one thing, however, that I must say to you before we go any further.”

“And what is that?”

“It concerns my wedding,” Godfrey replied. “I am afraid it will be a terrible blow to poor Molly; but until this charge, which I have no doubt will be brought against me, is disproved, she must not think any more of me.”

Sir Vivian stared at him in astonishment.

“Nonsense, my dear lad,” said he. “I know that you love my girl, and that she loves you. It is her duty, therefore, to stand by you and to comfort you when you are in trouble. Believe me, she will have no doubt as to your innocence.”

“I know that,” said Godfrey; “but I do not think it would be fair for me to allow her name to be linked with mine under such painful circumstances.”

“It will be linked with it whether you like it or not,” was the reply. “If I am prepared to stake my honour on your innocence, you may be very sure that she will stake hers. Molly isn’t a fair-weather friend.”

“She is the truest and best girl in the world,” said Godfrey. “No one knows that better than I.”

“Then wait until you have seen her and talked it over with her alone. Put the question to her, and see what she will say. I know her well enough to guess what her answer will be.”

“God bless you for your trust in me!” said Godfrey, in a shaky voice. “I fear I have done very little to deserve it.”

“It is sufficient that I know you for what you are,” the other answered. “I knew your uncle and grandfather before him, and I am as certain that you would not do anything dishonourable as I am of my own name. What we have to do is to put our wits to work and to endeavour to find out, as Codey says, the sender of the box. Then I believe we shall be on the track of the real criminal. It was a very good suggestion on Mr. Bensleigh’s part that we should employ that man; we could not have had a better. I never saw such eyes in my life. He seems to look one through and through. I pity Mr. Fensden when he comes to be cross-examined by him.”

The old gentleman chuckled over the thought and then lapsed into silence.

When they reached Detwich, they became aware that Griffin had travelled from London by the same train. Godfrey beckoned to him.

“Of course you heard the evidence to-day, Griffin,” Godfrey began when the other approached.

“Yes, sir, I did,” said the police official, gravely.

“And you must have drawn your own conclusions from it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, Griffin, what I wanted to say to you is that, if I am wanted for anything, I shall not leave the Hall until Wednesday morning; then I shall go up to the inquiry again.”

“I will bear the fact in mind, sir,” said the man. “But there’s one thing I should like to say, if you don’t mind.”

“What is it? Say it by all means.”

“It’s this, sir. Whether it’s going against my duty or not — and there’s nobody here to hear it if it is — whatever verdict they may bring in, I don’t believe for a moment that you had any more to do with that poor girl’s death than I had. You will excuse my saying so, I hope, sir?”

“On the contrary, I am very much obliged to you for your good opinion,” Godfrey replied, holding out his hand which the other took. “I am afraid that it’s going to be a very unpleasant business for me. That can’t be helped, however. Good-night.”

“Good-night, sir,” the man answered.

Then Godfrey joined Sir Vivian and, as had been arranged, they drove off to the Hall together. The moon was rising above the hill as they went through the park, and as Godfrey looked on the peaceful scene around him and thought of the terrible suspicion that was growing in people’s minds concerning himself his heart sank within him. If only little Teresina could speak, how easily she could clear up all the dark charges against him! She was dead, however, brutally murdered, and he, the only man who had ever befriended her, was suspected of having caused her death.

“Keep up a stout heart, my lad,” said Sir Vivian, as they alighted from the carriage and ascended the steps. “Think of the ladies, and don’t make them any more unhappy than you can help.”

The door was opened by the ancient butler who had served his uncle before him, and Godfrey entered his home, but how different a man from the young fellow who had left it that morning!

“The ladies are in the drawing-room, sir,” said the servant, when he had relieved them of their hats and coats.

They accordingly proceeded thither, one of them at least with a sinking heart.

“We have just been wondering when we should see you,” said Kitty.

There was a look of anxiety on Molly’s face as she came forward to meet her lover. She placed her hand in his, and they sat down together.

“Well, my dear boy,” said Mrs. Henderson, “what have you to tell us? What was the result?”

There was no need for her to say to what she referred. Their minds had been too much occupied with it that day to leave room for any uncertainty upon the point.

“Nothing is decided yet,” said Sir Vivian, who took upon himself the part of spokesman. “The inquiry is adjourned until Wednesday.”

“That means that you will have to go up again,” said Molly. “Why couldn’t they settle it at once?”

Godfrey knew, but he dared not tell her the reason.

“They are searching for more evidence, I fancy,” said Sir Vivian. “You must remember that the matter is, at present, shrouded in the greatest mystery. Until that can be cleared up, nothing can be done.”

“And Mr. Fensden, where did you leave him?” asked Mrs. Henderson.

“We parted outside the Court,” said Godfrey. “I have no idea where he is staying to-night.”

Though he tried to speak unconcernedly, Molly felt certain in her own mind that there had been trouble between the two men. She said nothing to him about it, however. She knew that he would tell her in good time.

That night, when Sir Vivian’s carriage was announced, Godfrey accompanied him to the front door. Before leaving, the old gentleman took him on one side out of earshot of the servants.

“Keep up your spirits, my dear lad,” he said, as he had done so many times before. “Remember that you have many friends and that I am not the least of them. Should anything occur, send for me at once, and I will be with you as fast as horses can bring me. In the meantime do not alarm the ladies more than you can help.”

“You may rely upon my not doing so,” said Godfrey, and then Sir Vivian entered his carriage and drove away.

Later, when Godfrey bade Molly good-night, she looked up at him with sorrowful eyes.

“I feel sure,” she said, “that there is something you are keeping back from me. I beg of you not to do so. You know how I love you, and how earnest is my desire to share both your joys and your sorrows with you. Will you not confide in me and tell me everything?”

“When there is anything worth the hearing, you may be sure I will tell you, dear,” he answered, not daring to let her know the truth that night. “In the morning we will talk the whole matter over and you shall give me your advice. And now you must go to bed and try to obtain a good night’s rest, for I am sure you did not sleep well last night.”

“I did not,” she answered. “I was thinking of you all night, for I knew how you were dreading going up to-day.”

He did not tell her that he dreaded going up on Wednesday a great deal more. He preferred to take her in his arms and kiss her, calling her his good angel, swearing that he would love her all his life long, and that even death itself should not separate them. Then he went to his room, prepared to spend what he knew would be a sleepless night, and he was not destined to be wrong. Hour after hour he tumbled and tossed upon his bed, going over the day’s proceedings again and again, and speculating with never-ceasing anxiety as to what was to happen in the future. At last, unable to bear it any longer, he rose from his bed and went downstairs to his studio, where he lighted his fire and smoked and read until daylight. Then a cold bath somewhat refreshed him, and, as soon as he had dressed, he set off across the park to the home farm. He was always an early riser, and his presence there at that hour excited no comment. He watched the sleek, soft-eyed cows being milked, saw the handsome cart-horses, of which he had once been so proud, set off upon their day’s work, had a quarter of an hour’s conversation with his head-keeper at his cottage gate, and then returned home through the plantations to breakfast. It was his mother’s habit to read prayers to the household immediately before the meal, and, as he knelt by Molly’s side, and listened to the old familiar words, his heart ached when he thought of the misery that any moment might bring upon them.

As the first train from London did not arrive until somewhat late, the morning papers were delivered with the letters, which usually reached the Hall about half-past nine. When they arrived Godfrey selected one, and took it with him to his studio. With a feeling that he had never bef............