"Mary Kingston? She came to our house that very afternoon. She must have asked my father to go to see her—he spoke kindly of her to me. But why did Mr. Trent go there too?"
"There have been secrets kept from us which have now come to light," said Maurice, sadly. "Oliver went there to see his brother Francis, who was ill in bed; and his brother's wife was no other than the woman who acted as your maid, Mary Kingston—or rather Mary Trent. Kingston left your house on Saturday, it seems, because she had caught sight of her husband in the street: he had been very ill, and she felt herself obliged to go home with him and put him to bed. He has been in bed, unable to rise, she tells me, ever since."
"But she—she," said Lesley eagerly, "can explain the whole matter. She must have heard the fight—the scuffle—whatever it was—upon the stairs. She ought to be able to tell when father left the house—and when Mr. Trent left the house. They did not go together, did they?" there was a touch of scorn in her voice.
"No, they did not go together. But what Mrs. Trent alleges is, that your father waited for Oliver on the stairs, and attacked him there. It is a malicious, wicked lie—I am sure of that. But it is what she says she is willing to swear."
"Mrs. Trent!" Lesley repeated vaguely. "Mrs. Trent! Do you mean—Kingston? Kingston swears that my father lay in wait for Oliver Trent upon the stairs? It is impossible!"
"Yes, Kingston," Maurice answered, in a low, level voice. "It is Kingston who has accused your father of the crime."
Lesley covered her face with her hands, and for a moment or two did not speak. "It is too terrible," she said at last, not very steadily. "I do not know how to believe it. I always trusted her. Is there nobody worth trusting in the world? Is there no truth and faith anywhere at all?"
The tears were raining down her cheeks as she spoke. Maurice looked at her with wistful tenderness.
"Can you ask that question when you have such a father?" he asked. "And I—have I done anything to deserve your want of trust?"
She could only sob out incoherent words by way of answer. "Not you—not my father—I was thinking—of others—others I have trusted and been deceived in."