"Name of names! I care not for your morals, me. The law cannot touch me, so I laugh at your reproach."
"Nevertheless, Monsieur Judas," said Fanks, meaningly, "I would recommend you to leave Ironfields as soon as possible!"
"And for why? No one knows of this affair. Is it not so?"
"Of course! But though your character is not known to the world, it is to me. I am the law, and the law shall force you to leave this place. A man like you is dangerous, so you had better go back to your Paris, where you will find a few congenial scoundrels like yourself!"
"Eh, monsieur! I have no wish to stay in this rain climate," said Judas, scoffingly; "but if I chose to stay I would, certainly!"
"Try," said Fanks, significantly,
But Monsieur Judas had no wish to try. He simply shrugged his shoulders, and intimated that if they had learned all they desired from him, he was anxious to depart. Roger, however, asked him to resume his seat.
"I think it is only just to state the part taken by Miss Varlins in this lamentable affair," he said, quietly. "She had no idea that Miss Marson had anything to do with the death of Melstane for a long time. She asked me to obtain the letters from Melstane, thinking that he might use them to create a scandal, but she did not know that the certificate of marriage was among them. When, however, Miss Marson was ill, she betrayed the fact of the marriage and the existence of a certificate in her delirium. Miss Varlins was anxious to keep the fact of the marriage quiet, as, seeing Melstane was now dead, the whole affair might blow over. This was the reason she refused to let Mr. Fanks see the letters without her first looking through them, as she thought he might discover the marriage certificate and connect Miss Marson indirectly with the death of her miserable husband. Of the horrible truth, however, she had no idea till later on, when Miss Marson, in her sick-bed ravings, betrayed the whole affair. She then acted in a manner befitting her noble nature. The dead girl, gentlemen, was left to Miss Varlins as a sacred charge by the late Mrs. Marson, and Miss Varlins proved herself worthy of the trust. She resolved to stand between the guilty woman and the law, even at the cost of ignominy and disgrace to herself. I implored her to tell me the truth, never for a moment deeming her guilty. She refused to answer my questions, she refused to either deny or affirm the accusation, and it was then I guessed she was shielding some one; but I never thought it was Florry Marson; I thought it was her father. Now, gentlemen, the mystery is cleared up—the riddle is guessed. Florry Marson murdered the unhappy man who died at Jarlchester; but had it not been for the accident of her escaping from her sick-room and revealing her guilt in her delirium, Miss Varlins would have had to bear the stigma of this crime. A noble woman, gentlemen, you must all of you confess."
"Noble indeed," assented all present, except Judas, who laughed quietly to himself.
"In a few months," resumed Roger, his voice trembling, "I hope to lead her to the altar as my wife, and I pray to God that the brightness of the future will make amends for the sorrows of the past, and that I may prove worthy of this pearl of womanhood which I hope soon to have in my keeping."