"Oh, Alan, I am so glad--so thankful! I said so, didn't I, Mr. Phelps? You didn't do it!"
"Do it--of course I didn't do it! Why should I? Phelps,"--Alan forgot his respect for the Rector in his rage--"do you believe this lying story?"
"Knowing you as I do, I don't believe it. But I must say that Lestrange--he is a very dangerous man--makes out a strong case against you."
"Oh! Let me hear on what grounds."
"Alan!" Sophy came forward and took him by the lapels of his coat, "before we tell you anything, confess if you have kept anything from us."
He looked at her in a puzzled manner. Then a light seemed to dawn upon him. He glanced at the Rector.
"Now I understand, Mr. Phelps. Jarks has told you."
"Told me what?" asked the Rector, with well-feigned ignorance.
"I see! I see!" Alan sat down again. "It's all right, Sophy. I kept that from you only that you should not be worried. So Lestrange found out--from Jarks, I suppose--that I was at Heathton on the night of the funeral?"
"Yes, yes. Oh, Alan, is it true?"