"Do you not?—I think I speak plain language—however, if you forget the appearance of the night when the buck was shot, perhaps you can tell me on what day of the week your man, Sam, managed to get into Holgrave's cottage, and steal the shafts from the quiver over the fire-place?"
Up to this period the hall had been as still as if Sir Robert and Mary were its only occupants; but at this point a murmur arose, as if by the power of magic, each was in a moment convinced of Holgrave's innocence.
"Peace!" vociferated De Boteler—"Answer, woman!" he continued, stamping his foot.
Mary saw that she had nothing to do but deny, and this she did most stoutly.
"Wretch!" said De Boteler, "Why do you not tell the truth?"
But Mary was not to be intimidated, and Sir Robert, perceiving he could gain nothing from her in this way, arose, and approaching the baroness, who had been looking on with much interest, said, softly, "My Lady de Boteler, I wish to put a question or two to this woman, but as what I shall ask must be distressing to you, perhaps you had better retire."
"No—no," replied Isabella, "do not fear for me?—This is so strange, I must hear what you have to say."
"Prepare yourself then, lady," said Sir Robert, and he resumed his seat.
"Mary Byles," he began, "I have one more question to ask you. How many drops of that fatal potion was it that Edith Holgrave told you to give my lord's infant?"
A smothered sob from Isabella, now added to Mary's perplexity, her cheeks and temples became flushed, and, with a bewildered look, she said—