"If so, why did you not accuse her of the murder?"
"I gave her a chance of repentance."
"No, Mrs. Snow, that was not the reason. You did not tell the police, because you could not prove your accusation. For all I know--for all the police know--you may have murdered my father yourself."
Mrs. Snow laughed scornfully. "I murder George Hall? Why, I loved the very ground he trod on. You can prove nothing against me."
"Nor can you prove anything against my mother."
"Can I not?" Mrs. Snow rose and flung her arms about exultingly. "I was stopping at the Grange. I was lying awake on that night, wondering when my misery would end."
"What misery?"
"The misery of loving your father, and of seeing him with your mother. But I sowed dissension between them: they were never happy."
"You wicked woman!"
"I am a woman, and that answers all," said Mrs. Snow sullenly. "I don't mind telling you all this, as you cannot accuse me of anything. If you did say that I told you what I am now telling you, I should deny it; and who would believe you, against a respectable woman like me?"