"Be silent!" sternly struck in Conroy. "How dare you presume so to speak of your master's kinsman?"
Aaron looked up with a gasp.
"Mr. Denison of Nunham Priors is every whit as honourable as the late Mr. Denison of Heron Dyke. Take care how you speak of him in future. And remember that he is Mr. Denison of Heron Dyke now--and would have been so ever since last April but for your plotting."
Never had Conroy been so moved--so stern.
Ella, though assenting in her heart to every word, looked at him in surprise. Aaron felt checked and mortified; he thought this was pretty assumption for a man who was but a newspaper reporter, and would have liked to say so.
"Mistress," he stammered in a husky voice, "how did you come to know about the Squire?"
"That I must decline to tell you," spoke Miss Winter. "It is enough that I do know it. Had you but told me the truth when I first questioned you, what annoyance it would have saved both myself and you!"
But the aged retainer could only reiterate, "I did it for the best."
Mr. Conroy spoke.
"I want you to tell me, Aaron, the real date of the Squire's death."