"I am afraid she will never believe us, or forgive us if she does," sighed Lesley. "But what else happened?"
"Your father left the building, after a long and angry conversation, about midnight. Oliver remained behind. Of course your father knows nothing more. But Mrs. Trent says that Oliver went away ten minutes later, and that she then heard loud words and the sound of a struggle upon the stairs. Fights are too common in that neighborhood to excite much remark. She, however, feeling anxious, stole down the upper flight of stairs, and distinctly saw Mr. Brooke and her brother-in-law struggling together. She maintains that Mr. Brooke's stick was in his hand."
"How wickedly false! Why did she not scream if she saw such a sight?"
"She was afraid. And she says that she did not think it would come to—murder. She crept back to her room again, and in a few minutes everything was quiet. Only—in the early morning the dead body of Oliver Trent was found upon the stairs, and then she gave information as to what she had seen and
heard."
There was a short silence. Then Lesley said, very tremulously—"It sounds like a plot—a plot against my dear father's good name!"
"And a very cleverly concocted plot too," thought Maurice to himself in silent rage; but he dared not say so much aloud. He only answered, tenderly—
"Such a plot can never come to good, Lesley. You and I together—we will unravel it—we will clear your father, and bring him back to the world again."
"He is not coming home just yet, then?"
"I am afraid—dear, do not tremble so—he will have to take his trial. But he will be acquitted, you will see."