"Kindness! Perhaps so. We have all been kind to Ruth. It is well you charge my guardian's son with nothing but kindness. Anything else would have been dishonor, you know, and it would offend me if you charged that upon him."
"Lady, I charge him with nothing, save the murder of William Jessup."
"But that is impossible. You can make no one believe it. I wonder you will insist on the wild story."
It was true Lady Rose really could not take in this idea of murder—it was too horrible for reality. She put it aside as an incomprehensible dream.
"I saw it," persisted Storms, staggered by her persistent unbelief.
"Oh, I have dreamed such things, and they seemed very real," answered the lady, with a slight wave of the hand.
CHAPTER LXIII.
THE PRICE OF A LIFE.
LADY, I have other proof. Read that. Perhaps you have seen William Jessup's writing. Read that."