"But my master had no son."
"I am his son. Edwin Lister is my father."
"Oh!" A sudden light broke over Bella's face, and she clapped her hands. "And your double?"
"Yes," said Cyril in low tones; "now you can guess how afraid I was to lay my suspicions before you."
"No," she said boldly. "Why you should be afraid I cannot guess."
Cyril rose slowly, laid two heavy hands on her shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. "My dear," he said in a hard voice, "can you not understand that this double was my father, who resembled me so closely that this man"—he jerked back his head towards the still staring negro—"mistook me for him."
"Well," said Bella, inquiringly.
"Well," repeated Lister, impatiently, "You thought that I had committed the murder, but now that you know the truth——"
Bella shook herself free and grew pale. "It was your father who struck the blow!" she said in a low, horrified tone.
"Yes. And if my father killed your father, how can we marry?"