"Yes," said Rendel slowly. "At least he knew what had happened—and—and—he guessed that the suspicion would fall upon me."
"Oh!" cried Rachel, hiding her face in her hands and trying to steady her voice. "I am sorry he knew just at the end. I wonder if he realised?"
Rendel said nothing. Even now was Sir William Gore to stand between them?
"Perhaps he didn't," Rachel said, almost entreatingly, "as he was so ill. Because think what it would have been to him! Of course he would have known it was not true, but he was so fastidious, so terribly sensitive, the mere thought that you could have been suspected of such a thing even would have preyed upon him so terribly."
"Well," said Rendel, in a low voice—the last possibility of clearing himself was put behind him, and the darkness fell again—"he is beyond reach of it. It is I who must suffer now."
Rachel had walked to the other side of the garden, pressing her handkerchief to her eyes and trying to control herself. Now she came swiftly back, a sudden determination in her heart.
"Frank," she cried, "why must you suffer? We must find out who really did it."
"I can't," said Rendel.
"But have you tried?"