"Ay, murder will out, sooner or later," answered the pilgrim. "And whom did the whispers point at?"
"Nay," replied Dame Julian, "I know not that I ought to say; but, to a reverend man like you, who have visited the shrine of St. James, there can be no harm in speaking of these things, especially as we all know that the whispers are false. Well, then--but you must tell nobody what I say--the lady's own lover--husband, indeed, I might call him, for they were betrothed by holy church--has been accused of having done the deed; but every one who knows Sir Harry Dacre is right sure that he would have sooner cut off both his hands; and, besides, the miller of Clatford Mill told me--'twas but yesterday morning--that, half an hour before sunset, on that very day when all this happened, he saw Sir Harry at his own place, and opened the gate for him to go through. He remembered it, he said, because the knight had torn his hand with a nail in the gate, by trying to open it without dismounting; and as soon as he was through, he rode on towards Wey Hill, which is quite away from here."
"Might he not have come back again by some other road?" asked the pilgrim.
"No," answered Dame Julian, "not without going four miles round; and, besides, the miller told me that his man Job saw the knight, half an hour after, at the top of Wey Hill, halting his horse, and gazing at the sun setting. Now that's a good way off, and this deed was done just after close of day."
"Then that clears him," replied the pilgrim; "but is there no one else suspected?"
The good woman shook her head, and he added--"Was nobody seen about here who might have had cause to wish the lady ill?"
"None," said Dame Julian, with a low laugh, "but one who might perhaps wish her dead; for he got all her wealth, which was prodigious, they say."
"Ay, was he seen about, then?" demanded the pilgrim; "there might be suspicion there."
"Why," said the reeve's wife, "he was staying up at the Hall, and passed homeward about three. It might be a little later, but not much. What became of him afterwards I do not know; and yet, now I think of it, he must have remained in the place some time, for he was seen an hour after, or more, by a girl, who asked me who he was."
"Tis a wonder she did not know him," said the pilgrim, "if she lives in this place."