Mr. Cass smiled sadly. "Unfortunately, there was no doubt, my dear boy. Your father was killed with a buck-handled knife which had been used to cut bread, and----"
"The knife--the knife!" muttered Neil, straining his memory. "Yes, it was with a buck-handled knife I ran at him!"
"The knife was your mother's, and was found beside the body of the dead man. Undoubtedly your father came back after his release from prison, and insulted the woman he had ruined----"
"I can't bear it--not a word more of that. Only the fact."
"Well, there must have been a quarrel, and your mother--goaded beyond herself, no doubt--struck at your father with the knife which was lying on the table."
"How do you know that?"
"Because the table was spread for supper, and the knife was of the kind that is used to cut bread."
"I remember something about eating," muttered Neil. "Go, on, please."
"The murder was discovered next morning by a woman who had gone to the Turnpike House to get Mrs. Jenner was doing for her. She gave the alarm, and suspicion fell at once upon your mother. The police were informed, and search was made. Your mother was found five miles away, under a hedge, insensible, with you in her arms. She had succumbed to cold and but she still lived."
"Would she had died altogether!" said Neil, sadly.