"Not a word," said the young man. "But I say, Cass, if I were you I should burn that copy of the confession. The original, in the possession of the authorities, will be sufficient to prove Mrs. Jenner's guilt should anyone else be accused, which is not likely after all. Burn it."
"I intend to do so." And Mr. Cass dropped the document into the fire. "I only brought it back so that you might be sure she was guilty. Ah, it is in ashes already! I wish we could get rid of all our painful memories so easily!" But to the end of my life I shall never forget this case. And these were the last words they spoke on the subject, for both Mr. Cass and Geoffrey ever afterwards carefully avoided all mention of it. Nor was there even the Turnpike House to remind them of the tragedy, for it had been burnt to the ground. And Mr. Heron had the site ploughed and enclosed in the field adjoining; so that the next year corn waved where the blood-stained habitation had stood.
Mrs. Marshall carried out her intention of separating from her husband; she gave him a portion of her money, and made him a present of the forged bill, and he betook himself and his money to Paris. Neil buried his mother and mourned her for many months. Then he made his reappearance in public, and was more successful than ever. Now that time was healing his wounds, he began to think about his future, and the first thing he did was to ask Jennie Brawn to share it with him. She, poor girl, accepted him with joy; and at once sent the good news to Ruth. Mr. Cass thereupon went up to London, and called upon the girl at his daughter's house, for she was still teaching Mrs. Chisel's children. He told her the whole story, not thinking it fair that she should marry Neil in ignorance of the truth. And at first she was horrified; but declared that nothing could alter her determination to marry him.
"I love him," she said, and that was all.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The strange story of the burning of the two men, and that of the murder which had taken place in the same house twelve years before is even now often told by winter firesides. But few know the truth, that the mother of Neil Webster, the famous violinist, was the guilty person in the tragedy of the Turnpike House. The truth was disclosed to Mr. Cass, to Geoffrey Heron, to Mrs. Marshall, and to the Governor of Gaol, and the chaplain. But as for this story it is told with other names; and the scene is laid fifty miles from the real locality.