"Are you sure he is dead?" asked Beryl, warming his hands.
Lucy sat up on the sofa and pushed the loose hair back from her forehead. "Why do you say that?" she asked sharply.
Julius stared at the fire. "I can't understand Durham's attitude," he said evasively. "He must know that Bernard is dead, seeing that the coat and hat were found on the banks of the river. No man could have lived in the cold and the fog. Yet if Durham was sure he would not hold the estate against Bernard's coming."
"Mr. Durham requires proof of the death," rejoined Lucy, sharply; "and until then, he is bound to administer the estate according to the will. As Bernard's body has not been found, there is always a chance that he may have escaped."
"I sincerely trust not."
"Ah! You always hated Bernard."
"On the contrary, I speak for his good. What's the use of his coming to life when he must suffer for his crime?"
"I don't believe he committed it," said Lucy, doggedly.
"You have no grounds for saying that," said Julius, pale with rage.
"I don't need grounds," retorted the genuine woman. "Bernard always was as kind-hearted as you were—and are, the reverse."