"murder!" the ominous word struck at bella's heart, in spite of the fact that her dazed brain could scarcely grasp its significance. with unseeing eyes she stared at her terrified aunt. mrs. coppersley, in her usual morning dress, simply made, for domestic purposes, fell back from the motionless girl, and gripped the table in the centre of the room. her face was white, her figure limp; and almost crazy with alarm, she looked twice her age. nor did the sight of her niece's bewildered gaze reassure her. with a quick indrawn breath of fear, she lurched forward and again shook the girl.

"bella! bella! what's come to you? don't you hear me? don't you understand, bella? jabez is dead! your father has been murdered. he's lying a corpse in his study. and oh—oh—oh!"—mrs. coppersley reeled against the table again, and showed signs of violent hysteria.

this spectacle brought back bella with a rush to the necessities of the moment. she sprang to her feet, with every sense alert and ready to be used. seizing the ewer from the wash-stand, she dashed the water over the sobbing, terrified woman, then braced herself to consider the situation.

bella's thoughts reverted to the events of the previous night. she remembered that cyril had come to the house and, without a sign of recognition had entered. she had not seen him depart, because—because—oh, yes, she had fallen unaccountably asleep. slumber had overtaken her at the very moment when she was preparing to descend from the window, in order to—to—to——. bella uttered a wild cry, and the ebbing blood left her face pearly white. the interview between her father and cyril had taken place; she had not been there, and now—and now——. "what do you say?" she asked her aunt, in a hard, unemotional voice.

mrs. coppersley, quite unnerved, and drying her scared face with the towel, gasped and stared. "didn't you hear? what's come to you, bella? your father has been murdered. i got up this morning as usual, and went into the study. he's lying there, covered with blood. oh, who can have killed him?"

"how should i know?" cried bella, harshly. "i was locked up in this room by you, aunt rosamund. i fell asleep after—after——" she stopped, aware that she might say something dangerous.

"after what?" asked mrs. coppersley, curiously.

"after you left—after i drank the tea. oh, how could i fall asleep, when—when—ah!" bella made a bound for the table, and took up the empty cup. some dregs of tea remained, which she tasted. they had a bitter flavour, and a thought flashed into her mind. "you drugged this tea!" she cried.

mrs. coppersley flapped her plump hands feebly, and gasped again. never a very strong-minded woman, she was now reduced to a markedly idiotic condition under the strain of the tragic circumstances. "i drug your tea? save us, bella, what do you mean?"

"i drank this tea and fell asleep," said the girl sharply; "although before drinking it, i did not feel at all sleepy. now i have a disagreeable taste in my mouth, and my head aches. there is a queer flavour about what is left in the cup. i am sure this tea was drugged. by you?"

"good lord!" cried mrs. coppersley indignantly. "why should i drug your tea, bella? your father poured it out himself in the study, when i was getting you toast in the kitchen. i told you so last night."

"yes, yes. i remember." bella passed her hand across her forehead. "my father evidently drugged the tea to keep me quiet. and so he has met with his death by violence."

"bella," mrs. coppersley screamed, and made for the door, "what do you mean?"

again the girl felt that she was talking too freely. if cyril was implicated in the crime reported by mrs. coppersley, she must save cyril. or at least, she must hold her peace until she heard from her lover what had taken place during that fatal interview. it was just possible that cyril had slain the captain in self-defence, and knowing her father's violent character, the girl could scarcely blame the young man. she expected that this would happen, and so had been anxious to intervene as a peacemaker. but the drugged tea—she felt certain that it had been drugged by her father—had prevented her doing what she wished. now huxham was dead, and lister, whether in self-defence or not, was his murderer. the thought was agony. yet in the midst of the terror engendered by her surmise, bella found herself blaming her father. if he had not drugged the tea in order to keep her in her room, this tragedy would not have happened. captain huxham had paved the way to his own death.

but, after all, there might be extenuating circumstances, and perhaps cyril would be able to explain. meantime she would hold her tongue as to having seen him enter the house. but if anyone else had seen him? she turned to mrs. coppersley. "where were you last night?" she demanded, suspiciously.

"i was with henry vand from seven until after ten," said the woman meekly, and evidently unaware why the leading question had been put. "i left your father in his study, and when i returned i let myself in by the back door and went to bed quietly. you know, jabez always objected to my seeing henry, so i wished to avoid trouble. this morning, when i went into the—ugh! ugh! come and see for yourself!" and mrs. coppersley gripped bella's wrist to draw her towards the door—"it's murder and robbery!"

bella released her wrist with a sudden jerk, but followed the elder woman down the stairs. "robbery! what do you mean?"

"come and see!" said mrs. coppersley hysterically. "we must send for the police, i suppose. oh, my poor nerves! never, never shall i get over this shock, disagreeable as jabez always was to me. and he wasn't ready for heaven, either; though perhaps he did send for mr. pence to talk religion to him."

"did my father send for mr. pence?"

"yes. he asked me to go to the village with a note for mr. pence. i could not find mr. pence at home, so left the note for him. then i met henry, and returned, as i told you, after ten o'clock."

"did mr. pence come to see my father?" asked bella anxiously. she was wondering if the preacher had by any chance seen cyril enter the house.

"i don't know—i can't say—oh, dear me, how dreadful it all is!" maundered mrs. coppersley, opening the door of the study. "just look for yourself, bella. your father lies dead in his blood. oh, how i hope that the villain who killed and robbed him will be hanged and drawn and quartered! that i do, the wretch, the viper, the beast! i must get some rum. i can't stay in this room without some rum. i shall faint, i know i shall. what's the time? seven o'clock. oh, dear me, so late! i must send tunks for the police. he has to be here to see your father, and oh, dear me, he can't see your father unless he goes to heaven, where i'm sure i hope jabez has gone. but one never knows, and he certainly was most disagreeable to me. oh, how ill i am! oh, how very, very bad i feel!" and thus lamenting mrs. coppersley drifted out of the room, towards the back part of the premises, leaving bella alone with the dead man.

and captain huxham was dead, stone dead. his body lay on the floor between the desk and the chair he had been sitting on. from the position of the corpse, bella judged that her father had suddenly risen to meet the descending weapon, which had pierced his heart. but not being able to defend himself, he had fallen dead at his murderer's feet. with a cautious remembrance that she must not remove anything until the police came, bella knelt and examined the body carefully, but without laying a finger on the same. the clothes over the heart had been pierced by some extremely sharp instrument, which had penetrated even through the thick pea-jacket worn by the dead man. there was blood on the cloth and on the floor, and although ignorant of medical knowledge, bella judged that death must have been almost instantaneous. otherwise there would have been signs of a struggle, as captain huxham would not have submitted tamely to death. but the casement was fast closed, the furniture was quite orderly. at least, bella judged so when she first looked round, for no chairs were upset; but on a second glance she became aware that the drawers of the desk were open, that the flexible lid of the desk was up, and that the pigeon-holes had been emptied of their papers. also—and it was this which startled her most—the green-painted safe was unlocked, and through the door, which stood ajar, she could see that the papers therein were likewise in disorder. in fact, some of them were lying on the floor.

strongly agitated, bella constructed a theory of the murder, and saw, as in a vision—perhaps wrongfully—what had taken place. the captain had come to his desk for some purpose, but hearing a noise, or perhaps suspecting that there was danger, had unexpectedly turned, only to be stabbed. when he fell dead, the criminal took the keys of the safe from the dead man's pocket, and committed the robbery. then he examined the pigeon-holes of the desk, and afterwards departed—probably by the front door, since the casement was closed. robbery, undoubtedly, was the motive for the commission of the crime.

the girl rose to her feet, drawing a long breath of relief. cyril certainly could not have slain her father, since cyril would not have robbed. the young man assuredly had come to the house—she could swear to that herself—and if he had quarrelled with huxham, he might have struck him in a moment of anger. but there was no reason to believe that cyril would rob the safe. hence there must be another person, who had committed both the murder and the robbery. who was that person?

mrs. coppersley had stated plainly that huxham had sent a message to pence, asking him to call. perhaps he had obeyed the summons, after cyril left, and then had murdered the captain. but there was no motive for so timid and good-living a man as the preacher to slay and rob. so far as bella knew, pence did not want money, and—since he wished to make her his wife—it was imperative that huxham should live in order to forward his aims. and it was at this point that the girl recalled, with a shudder, the fact that cyril had confessed his need for one thousand pounds. could lister be the culprit, after all?

"no," cried bella aloud, and in an agony of shame; "the man i love could not be guilty of so vile an act." so she tried to comfort herself, but the fact of cyril's visit to the house still lingered in her mind.

shortly mrs. coppersley returned with tunks at her heels. the handy-man of bleacres was a medium-sized individual, with a swarthy skin and beady black eyes peering from under tangled black hair. lean and lithe, and quick in his movements, he betrayed his gypsy blood immediately, to the most unobservant, for there was something oriental in his appearance. just now he looked considerably scared, and came no further than the door of the room.

"there's your master," said mrs. coppersley, pointing to the dead, "so just you go to the village and tell the policeman to come here. bella, you have not touched anything, have you?"

bella shook her head. "i have not even touched the body," she confessed with a shudder. "tunks, were you about the house last night?"

"no, miss," said the man, looking more scared than ever. "i went home nigh on seven o'clock, and was with my granny all the evening. i know nothing about this, miss."

"i don't suppose you do," rejoined the girl tartly, "but i thought you might have seen my father later than mrs. coppersley here."

"i left the house last night at the same time as you, ma'am," said tunks, addressing himself to the housekeeper. "you locked the back door after me."

"yes," acknowledged mrs. coppersley promptly, "so you did. that would be at seven, as i came up and saw you, bella, a few minutes before, with the tea and toast. you didn't come back, tunks?"

"no, i didn't," retorted the gypsy sullenly. "you went on to marshely, and i got back home. i never came near this house again until this morning. you can ask my granny if i wasn't in bed early last night."

"when did you see your master last?" questioned bella.

tunks removed his dingy cap to scratch his untidy locks. "it would be about six, just before i had my tea. he wanted to reduce my wages, too, and i said i'd give him notice if he did. but i suppose," growled tunks, with his eyes on the remains, "it's notice in any case now."

"never you mind bothering about yourself," cried mrs. coppersley sharply. "go to marshely, and tell the policeman to come here. bella," she moved to the door, "let us leave the room and lock the door. nothing must be touched until the truth is known."

"will the truth ever be known?" asked the girl drearily, as she went into the hall, and watched her aunt lock the door of the death-room.

"of course," retorted the elder woman, "one person cannot murder another person without being seen."

"i don't know so much about that, aunt rosamund. you and tunks were away, and i was locked in my room, so anyone could enter, and——" she glanced towards the study door and shuddered.

"did you see anyone?" asked mrs. coppersley quickly.

bella started. "no," she replied, with unnecessary loudness; "how could i see anyone when i was drugged?"

"drugged, miss?" cried tunks, pricking up his ears.

mrs. coppersley turned on the handy-man, and stamped. "how dare you linger here?" she cried. "you should be half way to the village by this time. miss bella was having wakeful nights, and her father gave her a sleeping draught. off with you," and she drove tunks out of the front door.

"why did you tell such a lie?" asked bella when the man was hurrying down the path, eager, like all his tribe, to carry bad news.

"a lie! a lie!" mrs. coppersley placed her arms akimbo and looked defiant. "why do you call it a lie? you did complain of sleepless nights, and you did say that the tea, poured out by jabez, was drugged."

"that is true enough," admitted the girl quietly, "but i merely slept badly because of the hot weather, and never asked my father for a sleeping——"

"oh!" interrupted mrs. coppersley, tossing her head. "what does it matter. i can't even say if the tea was drugged."

"i'll learn that soon," replied bella drily, "for i have locked up the cup containing the dregs of tea. my father no doubt feared lest i should run away with cyril, and so drugged it."

"the least said the soonest mended, bella. say nothing of the drugging at the inquest, as there is no need to blacken your father's character."

"i don't see that anything i could say would blacken my father's character, aunt rosamund. of course, he had no business to drug me, but if i am asked at the inquest i shall tell the truth."

"and so your connection with that lister person will come out."

bella turned on her aunt in a fury. "what do i care?" she cried, stamping. "i have a right to marry him if i choose, and i don't care if all the world knows how i love him. in fact, the whole world soon will know."

"well," said mrs. coppersley, with an air of washing her hands of the entire affair, "say what you like; but don't blame me if you find yourself in an unpleasant position."

bella, who was ascending the stairs, turned to answer this last remark promptly. "why should i find myself in an unpleasant position?" she demanded. "do you accuse me of murdering father?"

"god forbid! god forbid!" cried mrs. coppersley piously and with a shudder, "but you cannot deny that you were alone in the house."

"and locked in my bedroom, as you can testify."

"oh, i'll say that willingly. but you'd better wash out that cup of dregs, and say nothing more."

"i have already mentioned the matter in tunks' hearing, so i must explain further if necessary. but i'll say why i believe my father acted so. your story of sleepless nights will not do for me."

"you'll blacken the memory of the dead," groaned mrs. coppersley dismally. "ah, you never loved your poor father."

"did you?" asked bella suddenly.

"in a way i did, and in a way i didn't," said her aunt evasively. "jabez never was the brother he should have been to me. but a daughter's nearer than a sister, and you should have loved him to distraction."

"in spite of the way he behaved to me."

"he had to keep a firm hand over your high spirit."

"aunt rosamund," burst out bella at white heat. "why do you talk in this silly way? you know that both to you and to me my father acted like a cruel tyrant, and that while he was alive we could do nothing to please him. i don't want to speak ill of the dead, but you know what i say is true."

"we are none of us perfect," snuffled mrs. coppersley, wiping her eyes, "and i daresay jabez was worse than many others. but i was a good sister to him, in spite of his horrid ways. i'm sure my life's been spent in looking after other people: first my mother, then my husband, and afterwards jabez. now i'll marry henry vand, and be happy."

"don't talk of happiness with that"—bella pointed downward to the study—"in the house. go and make yourself tidy, aunt, and i'll do the same. we have a very trying day before us."

"so like jabez, so very like jabez," wailed mrs. coppersley, while bella fled up the stairs. "he always brought trouble on everyone. even as a little boy, he behaved like the pirate he was. oh, dear me, how ill i feel. bella! bella! come down and see me faint. bella! bella!"

but the girl did not answer, as she knew that mrs. coppersley only wished to gossip. going to her own room, she again examined the cup with the dregs, which she had not locked up, in spite of her saying so to mrs. coppersley. undoubtedly, the tea tasted bitter, and she resolved to have it analysed so as to prove to herself the fact of the drugging. she knew perfectly well that her father had attended to the tea himself, evidently to render her helpless in case she meditated flight with cyril. and in dong so, he had indirectly brought about his own death, for had she been awake she could have descended from the window to be present at the interview which had ended so fatally. and at this point—while she was locking up the cup in a convenient cupboard—bella became aware that she was thinking as though her lover were actually guilty of the deed.

of course he could not be, she decided desperately, even though things looked black against him. lister, honest and frank, would not murder an old man in so treacherous a manner, however he might be goaded into doing so. and yet she had assuredly seen him enter the house. if she could only have seen him depart; but the drug had prevented that welcome sight. pence might have struck the blow, but pence had no reason to do so, and in fact had every inducement to keep huxham alive. bella could not read the riddle of the murder. all she knew was that it would be necessary for her to hold her tongue about lister's unexpected visit to the solitary farm.

"but i shall never be able to marry him after this," she wailed.