"Oh, you may sneer," said Herne, with energy; "but I know you are not a child of God. I fought against you for the soul of Milly, as angels fight against devils of the pit. I had rather she died than lived to be your wife, and lose her soul in worldly pleasures."
"All this is beside the question," sneered Lovel. "I want to know about your visit."
"I came down to Marborough in a kind of disguise," said Herne, dropping his religious tone for that of a man of the world--"that is, I muffled myself up so that my face could not be recognised. From a stable on the outskirts of Marborough I hired a horse and rode over to Barnstead. I left the horse at The Chequers, where I was not known, and came to this lane, where I watched, hidden behind yonder tree. I saw you, Lovel, come up with Milly; I saw you kiss; and such was my rage that before I could advance I fell into one of those trances to which I am subject. When I came to myself I was alone, and on the ground was the dead body of Milly. It was then, Lovel, that I thought you had killed the poor girl; but I could not prove your guilt because of my trance. Again, as I had come by stealth to Barnstead, I was afraid lest under the circumstances I should be accused of the crime. Therefore I held my tongue about my presence here on that night."
"But you accused me!" said Lovel, bitterly.
"I do not accuse you now," replied Herne, coldly.
"And why?" retorted the young man. "Because you know that Chaskin is the assassin."
CHAPTER XXII.
[A DENIAL.]
Squire Herne stared blankly at Lovel, and burst out laughing. "Frank Chaskin!" said he; "my old friend, the murderer of my promised wife? You are mad to say so!"
"I am not mad, as you know very well, Mr. Herne. I daresay you came out of your trance on that night quickly enough to see Chaskin steal away from the scene of his crime?"