"She is acting under compulsion, my dear boy," said Gerald. "Vassalla has been telling her that Mrs. Verschoyle is the assassin of her husband, and has demanded her hand as the price of his silence."
"How does he know that Mrs. Verschoyle is guilty?" asked Ronald, fiercely. "We have proved nothing! She may be as innocent as you or I, for all we know!"
"My dear lad," said Foster, shrugging his shoulders, "we can only go by circumstantial evidence in this case, and you must acknowledge, things do look very black against Mrs. Verschoyle!"
"Oh, why did I ever start trying to find out the murderess of Leopold Verschoyle?" groaned Ronald, laying his head on the table.
"Rather, why did you fall in love with Carmela Cotoner?" said Foster, not unkindly.
"We'll talk no more of this," said Ronald, hastily rising to his feet, "till we see Roper, and hear what he has to say."
So Gerald, pitying the young man's sorrow in his kindly heart, went back to his musty law papers, and Signor Jilted-in-Love looked out of the window in sulky silence. Yet not sulky, poor lad, for his heart was aching with the thought of his future life being passed without Carmela, having, with the fine chivalrous feelings of youth, vowed he'd marry no other lady.
Soon Julian Roper arrived, and was welcomed with heartfelt joy by both gentlemen, who sprang with alacrity to their feet to greet him. He entered quiet and impassive as ever, but his sharp, blue eyes took in at a glance the haggard looks of the Australian.
"You've been fretting, Mr. Monteith," he said, looking keenly at him.
"Bah! don't mind me," said Ronald, peevishly; "I'm a little jaded with London gaiety. Tell us all you have learned."