WITH such a man as Miserrimus Dexter, and with such a purpose asI had in view, no half-confidences were possible. I must eitherrisk the most unreserved acknowledgment of the interests that Ireally had at stake, or I must make the best excuse that occurredto me for abandoning mycontemplated experiment at the last moment. In my presentcritical situation, no such refuge as a middle course lay beforeme--even if I had been inclined to take it. As things were, I ranrisks, and plunged headlong into my own affairs at starting.

"Thus far, you know little or nothing about me, Mr. Dexter," Isaid. "You are, as I believe, quite unaware that my husband and Iare not living together at the present time."

"Is it necessary to mention your husband?" he asked, coldly,without looking up from his embroidery, and without pausing inhis work.

"It is absolutely necessary," I answered. "I can explain myselfto you in no other way."

He bent his head, and sighed resignedly.

"You and your husband are not living together at the presenttime," he resumed. "Does that mean that Eustace has left you?"

"He has left me, and has gone abroad."

"Without any necessity for it?"

"Without the least necessity."

"Has he appointed no time for his return to you?"

"If he persevere in his present resolution, Mr. Dexter, Eustacewill never return to me."

For the first time he raised his head from his embroidery--with asudden appearance of interest.

"Is the quarrel so serious as that?" he asked. "Are you free ofeach other, pretty Mrs. Valeria, by common consent of bothparties?"

The tone in which he put the question was not at all to myliking. The look he fixed on me was a look which unpleasantlysuggested that I had trusted myself alone with him, and that hemight end in taking advantage of it. I reminded him quietly, bymy manner more than by my words, of the respect which he owed tome.

"You are entirely mistaken," I said. "There is no anger--there isnot even a misunderstanding between us. Our parting has costbitter sorrow, Mr. Dexter, to him and to me."

He submitted to be set right with ironical resignation. "I am allattention," he said, threading his needle. "Pray go on; I won'tinterrupt you again." Acting on this invitation, I told him thetruth about my husband and myself quite unreservedly, takingcare, however, at the same time, to put Eustace's motives in thebest light that they would bear. Miserrimus Dexter dropped hisembroidery on his lap, and laughed softly to himself, with animpish enjoyment of my poor little narrative, which set everynerve in me on edge as I looked at him.

"I see nothing to laugh at," I said, sharply.

His beautiful blue eyes rested on me with a look of innocentsurprise.

"Nothing to laugh at," he repeated, "in such an exhibition ofhuman folly as you have just described?" His expression suddenlychanged his face darkened and hardened very strangely. "Stop!" hecried, before I could answer him. "There can be only one reasonfor you're taking it as seriously as you do. Mrs. Valeria! youare fond of your husband."

"Fond of him isn't strong enough to express it," I retorted. "Ilove him with my whole heart."

Miserrimus Dexter stroked his magnificent beard, andcontemplatively repeated my words. "You love him with your wholeheart? Do you know why?"

"Because I can't help it," I answered, doggedly.

He smiled satirically, and went on with his embroidery."Curious!" he said to himself; "Eustace's first wife loved himtoo. There are some men whom the women all like, and there areother men whom the women never care for. Without the least reasonfor it in either case. The one man is just as good as the other;just as handsome, as agreeable, as honorable, and as high in rankas the other. And yet for Number One they will go through fireand water, and for Number Two they won't so much as turn theirheads to look at him. Why? They don't know themselves--as Mrs.Valeria has just said! Is there a physical reason for it? Isthere some potent magnetic emanation from Number One which NumberTwo doesn't possess? I must investigate this when I have thetime, and when I find myself in the humor." Having so far settledthe question to his own entire satisfaction, he looked up at meagain. "I am still in the dark about you and your motives," hesaid. "I am still as far as ever from understanding what yourinterest is in investigating that hideous tragedy at Gleninch.Clever Mrs. Valeria, please take me by the hand, and lead me intothe light. You're not offended with me are you? Make it up; and Iwill give you this pretty piece of embroidery when I have doneit. I am only a poor, solitary, deformed wretch, with a quaintturn of mind; I mean no harm. Forgive me! indulge me! enlightenme!"

He resumed his childish ways; he recover, his innocent smile,with the odd little puckers and wrinkles accompanying it at thecorners of his eyes. I began to doubt whether I might not havebeen unreasonably hard on him. I penitently resolved to be moreconsiderate toward his infirmities of mind and body during theremainder of my visit.

"Let me go back for a moment, Mr. Dexter, to past times atGleninch," I said. "You agree with me in believing Eustace to beabsolutely innocent of the crime for which he was tried. Yourevidence at the Trial tells me that."

He paused over his work, and looked at me with a grave and sternattention which presented his face in quite a new light.

"That is _our_ opinion," I resumed. "But it was not the opinionof the Jury. Their verdict, you remember, was Not Proven. Inplain English, the Jury who tried my husband declined to expresstheir opinion, positively and publicly, that he was innocent. AmI right?"

Instead of answering, he suddenly put his embroidery back in thebasket, and moved the machinery of his chair, so as to bring itclose by mine.

"Who told you this?" he asked.

"I found it for myself in a book."

Thus far his face had expressed steady attention--and no more.Now, for the first time, I thought I saw something darkly passingover him which betrayed itself to my mind as rising distrust.

"Ladies are not generally in the habit of troubling their headsabout dry questions of law," he said. "Mrs. Eustace Macallan theSecond, you must have some very powerful motive for turning yourstudies that way."

"I have a very powerful motive, Mr. Dexter My husband is resignedto the Scotch Verdict His mother is resigned to it. His friends(so far as I know) are resigned to it--"

"Well?"

"Well! I don't agree with my husband, or his mother, or hisfriends. I refuse to submit to the Scotch Verdict."

The instant I said those words, the madness in him which I hadhitherto denied, seemed to break out. He suddenly stretchedhimself over his chair: he pounced on me, with a hand on each ofmy shoulders; his wild eyes questioned me fiercely, frantically,within a few inches of my face.

"What do you mean?" he shouted, at the utmost pitch of hisringing and resonant voice.

A deadly fear of him shook me. I did my best to hide the outwardbetrayal of it. By look and word, I showed him, as firmly as Icould, that I resented the liberty he had taken with me.

"Remove your hands, sir," I said, "and retire to your properplace."

He obeyed me mechanically. He apologized to me mechanically. Hiswhole mind was evidently still filled with the words that I hadspoken to him, and still bent on discovering what those wordsmeant.

"I beg your pardon," he said; "I humbly beg your pardon. Thesubject excites me, frightens me, maddens me. You don't know whata difficulty I have in controlling myself. Never mind. Don't takeme seriously. Don't be frightened at me. I am so ashamed ofmyself--I feel so small and so miserable at having offended you.Make me suffer for it. Take a stick and beat me. Tie me down inmy chair. Call up Ariel, who is as strong as a horse, and tellher to hold me. Dear Mrs. Valeria! Injured Mrs. Valeria! I'llendure anything in the way of punishment, if you will only tellme what you mean by not submitting to the Scotch Verdict." Hebacked his chair penitently as he made that entreaty. "Am I farenough away yet?" he asked, with a rueful look. "Do I stillfrighten you? I'll drop out of sight, if you prefer it, in thebottom of the chair."

He lifted the sea-green coverlet. In another moment he would havedisappeared like a puppet in a show if I had not stopped him.

"Say nothing more, and donothing more; I accept your apologies," I said. "When I tell youthat I refuse to submit to the opinion of the Scotch Jury, I meanexactly what my words express. That verdict has left a stain onmy husband's character. He feels the stain bitterly. How bitterlyno one knows so well as I do. His sense of his degradation is thesense that has parted him from me. It is not enough for _him_that I am persuaded of his innocence. Nothing will bring him backto me--nothing will persuade Eustace that I think him worthy tobe the guide and companion of my life--but the proof of hisinnocence, set before the Jury which doubts it, and the publicwhich doubts it, to this day. He and his friends and his lawyersall despair of ever finding that proof now. But I am his wife;and none of you love him as I love him. I alone refuse todespair; I alone refuse to listen to reason. If God spare me, Mr.Dexter, I dedicate my life to the vindication of my husband'sinnocence. You are his old friend--I am here to ask you to helpme."

It appeared to be now my turn to frighten _him._ The color lefthis face. He passed his hand restlessly over his forehead, as ifhe were trying to brush some delusion out of his brain.

"Is this one of my dreams?" he asked, faintly. "Are you a Visionof the night?"

"I am only a friendless woman," I said, "who has lost all thatshe loved and prized, and who is trying to win it back again."

He began to move his chair nearer to me once more. I lifted myhand. He stopped the chair directly. There was a moment ofsilence. We sat watching one another. I saw his hands tremble ashe laid them on the coverlet; I saw his face grow paler andpaler, and his under lip drop. What dead and buried remembranceshad I brought to life in him, in all their olden horror?

He was the first to speak again.

"So this is your interest," he said, "in clearing up the mysteryof Mrs. Eustace Macallan's death?"

"Yes."

"And you believe that I can help you?"

"I do."

He slowly lifted one of his hands, and pointed at me with hislong forefinger.

"You suspect somebody," he said.

The tone in which he spoke was low and threatening; it warned meto be careful. At the same time, if I now shut him out of myconfidence, I should lose the reward that might yet be to come,for all that I had suffered and risked at that perilousinterview.

"You suspect somebody," he repeated.

"Perhaps!" was all that I said in return.

"Is the person within your reach?"

"Not yet."

"Do you know where the person is?"

"No."

He laid his head languidly on the back of his chair, with atrembling long-drawn sigh. Was he disappointed? Or was herelieved? Or was he simply exhausted in mind and body alike? Whocould fathom him? Who could say?

"Will you give me five minutes?" he asked, feebly and wearily,without raising his head. "You know already how any reference toevents at Gleninch excites and shakes me. I shall be fit for itagain, if you will kindly give me a few minutes to myself. Thereare books in the next room. Please excuse me."

I at once retired to the circular antechamber. He followed me inhis chair, and closed the door between us.