It came from Isaac Thornycroft. He had come in unheard, the door was but half closed, and gathered the sense of what was passing.
"Quite an appropriate atmosphere for ghostly stories," he said; "you are all in the dark here. Shall I ring for lights?"
"Not yet," interposed my lady, hastily; "I want to hear more."
"There's no more to hear," said Richard.
"Yes there is. You cannot think how this interests me, Mr. Richard; but I want to know--I want to know what was the cause of the murder. Can't you tell me?"
Isaac Thornycroft had perched himself on the music-stool, his fair, gay, open face a very contrast just now to his brother's grave one. In the uncertain light he fancied that my lady looked to him with the last question, as if in appeal, and he answered it.
"Richard can tell it if he likes."
But it seemed that Richard aid not like. He had said the neighbourhood cared not to speak of this; most certainly he did not. It was remembered afterwards, when years had passed; and the strange fact was regarded as some subtle instinct lying far beyond the ken of man. But there was my lady casting her exacting looks towards him.
"They were two brothers, the disputants, and the cause was said to be jealousy. Both loved the same woman, and she played them off one on the other. Hence the murder. Had I been the Nemesis I should have slain the woman after them."
"Brothers!" repeated Lady Ellis. "It was a dreadful thing."