Having made up her mind to seek an explanation from Mrs. Tunks regarding the vision of the negro in the crystal - that is, if the old woman really had beheld the same - Bella lost no time in executing her purpose.  In two or three minutes she hastily reassumed her hat, cloak, and gloves, which she had removed while conversing with Mrs. Coppersley.  Then taking her sunshade, she left the Manor-house by the front door.  In the dining-room she could hear the refined tones of Vand and the coarse voice of Mrs. Coppersley, as they laughed and chattered in the most amiable manner.  Evidently the pair had quite forgotten the recent tragedy, which had invested Bleacres with so sinister a reputation.  With a nervous shiver - for the merriment seemed to be singularly ill-timed - Bella closed the door softly, and walked down the corn-path.  Glancing right and left, and straight ahead, she could see nothing of the black man, who had appeared and disappeared so mysteriously.  Like the witches in “Macbeth,” he had made himself into thin air, and had vanished.

Bella felt remarkably uneasy, and on the face of it had great cause to be so.  Apparently, and she had not the least doubt of this, Durgo was Cyril’s servant, who came in search of him.  She rather wondered that her lover should have so uncivilised an attendant, and resolved that if they married she would endeavour to get him to dispense with the services of the man.  But what struck her most, were the questions of Durgo.  He evidently expected Cyril to meet Huxham and to have a quarrel.  Also the stated time - of two weeks and some days - corresponded with the midnight visit of Cyril to the Manor-house.  She recollected then that the visit was paid, not at midnight, but about eight o’clock, and saw in the mistake she had made the perplexity of her bewildered brain.  With a groan she tried to clear her understanding by swift movement, for she felt unable to follow any regular train of thought.

Nevertheless, Durgo’s innocent speech re-awakened her old suspicions, though she dreaded to recall them.  What if, after all, Cyril had been the visitor of a fortnight since?  In that case, since Huxham had been found dead, Cyril must have struck the blow.  The horror of the mere idea, which placed a barrier between them, made her turn cold, and she resolutely put it from her.  Cyril was the man she loved; the man in whom she had every reason to believe.  He had solemnly sworn that he was innocent of her father’s blood, and if she entertained a grain of affection for him she was bound to believe his word, even in the face of strong evidence to the contrary.  He must be guiltless; he was guiltless, as she assured herself; his looks and words and bearing convinced her of his guiltlessness.  In one way or another, the promised explanation would solve the difficult problem.  But when would that explanation be made?

Then, again, Mrs. Tunks must know somewhat of the truth, since she had so truly foretold the coming of the negro.  Bella, entirely lacking the mystical sense, had no belief in visions, and assumed that the old woman, for her own ends, had played a comedy, based upon actual fact.  Taking this view, the girl walked towards the hut of the witch-wife, resolute to learn how much Mrs. Tunks knew concerning Cyril’s past life.  Something she must know, else she could not have hinted at the appearance of the negro.  Bella herself was ignorant that her lover had so sinister a servant, but it seemed that Mrs. Tunks was better informed.  And since the old hag knew so much, she must know more.  A few questions would doubtless bring forth the information, and then Bella felt that she would know how to act.  But the position was extremely difficult, and the skein of life very tangled.

Thinking in this desultory way, she reached the end of the corn-field, and was about to turn along the pathway leading to the hut, when she heard her name called anxiously.  Looking up, she saw Dora Ankers on the hither side of the boundary channel.

“Oh, Bella!  I am so glad to see you,” sang out the Marshely school-mistress volubly.  “I really didn’t want to go to the Manor and meet that horrid aunt of yours.  Come with me, dear; he is waiting at my cottage.”

“Who is waiting?” demanded Bella, greatly surprised by this address.

“Oh, my dear, as if to a girl in love there is any he but the one he in the world,” said Dora, who was sentimental and impatient.

“Do you mean to say that Mr. Lister - ”

“Mr. Lister?  Oh, you cruel-hearted girl:  do you call him that?”

“I mean Cyril,” said Bella hurriedly; “is he - ”

“Yes, he is.  He won’t come to the Manor, and can’t very well see you in his own rooms, as that nasty-minded Mrs. Block might say things.  She is such a gossip you know.  In despair he came to me, poor dear, so I asked him to wait in my sitting-room while I came for you.”

Bella drew herself up stiffly.  She did not desire to appear too willing to obey the summons of her lover.  Womanlike, she wished him to say that he was in the wrong, so that her pride might be saved.  “I am going to Mrs. Tunks’.”

“What for?” asked Dora, bluntly.

“Never mind,” replied Miss Huxham, unwilling to confess that she was dealing with uncanny things beyond the veil.  “I must go.”

Dora tripped lightly across the narrow planks, and slipped her arm within that of her friend.  “You shall do nothing of the sort, you cold thing,” she declared.  “Poor Mr. Lister is quite broken-hearted by the way in which you have treated him.”

“Oh!” Bella became stiffer than ever.  “Has he said - ”

“He has said nothing! he is too much a man to say anything.  But I saw his poor, pale, peaked face, and - ”

“Does he look ill?” Bella was seized with a sudden qualm.

“Ill?” Miss Ankers’ gestures and looks became eloquent.  “Dear, he is dying.”

“Oh, Dora!” Miss Huxham kilted up her skirts and fairly ran across the planks.  “Why didn’t you come for me before?”

“You don’t seem to be in a hurry to come now,” laughed Dora, crossing in her turn; “yet the poor, dear fellow is dying - to see you.”

“Where has he been all this time?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, dear.  He came straight from London last night, and went to my cottage this morning to see me.  I was in church, so he came again in the afternoon, and asked me to help him.  Oh, my dear, he is handsome, and I felt that I could do anything for him.  I wish he had made love to me,” sighed the romantic school-mistress; “but all he did, was to ask me to bring you to my cottage for an interview.  So come, dear, come, and save the poor darling from an early grave.”

Bella needed no urging, for she was genuinely concerned over the news, and sped towards Marshely like a fawn, with Miss Ankers at her heels.  Dora had no difficulty in keeping up, as she was a slim, small, dainty woman, more like a fairy than mere flesh and blood.  In spite of her age, and she confessed to thirty-five, she had a pink-and-white skin, golden hair, and clear blue eyes.  Dressed as she was, in pale blue, with many ribbons and ornaments, she looked like a well-arrayed doll, just out of a satin-lined box.  But for all her innocent looks, Miss Ankers was a stern school-mistress, and during business hours behaved with great severity.  Out of them, however, she presented herself to the village world in her true colours, as a sentimental, airy, sweet-tempered little creature, who was everybody’s friend and nobody’s enemy.  Bella was always fond of her, but at this moment felt more attached to her than ever - as she had every reason to be, seeing that Miss Ankers had given up her snug sitting-room for a lovers’ meeting, and had actually brought that meeting about.

“You’re my good angel, Dora,” said Bella, kissing her friend, as they drew near the cottage, on the outskirts of Marshely.

“Oh, what waste!” remonstrated Dora, opening her china-blue eyes to their widest.  “What will Mr. Lister say to your throwing away kisses on me?”

Bella laughed, for her heart had grown unexpectedly light.  She had a firm belief that all misunderstandings were about to be cleared up between her lover and herself.  Also she acknowledged to herself, with great and thankful joy, that Cyril, in spite of her misgivings, had returned to her.  Seeing how she had doubted and accused him, he might have departed for ever, and with every reason for such a course.  But apparently he loved her so devotedly that he was willing to remain and explain himself.  It was no wonder that Bella’s heart leaped for joy, since the cloud, which had for so long overshadowed the sunshine of love, was about to be dissipated.  She almost danced into Ankers’ small garden.

“Mr. Lister is in the sitting-room dear,” said that arch-plotter, pushing her companion into the cottage.  “You’ll find him there.  I have to go to the church to run over the evening hymns.”

Miss Huxham knew that this was a mere excuse, but loved Dora all the more for making it.  Miss Ankers was much too romantic to mar the meeting by presenting herself as an inconvenient third.  Therefore she turned away laughing, and Bella, anxious to lose no moment of joy, entered the small sitting-room with a bright, expectant smile.  It died away at the sight of Lister’s sombre face.

The young man was seated in an arm-chair, with a newspaper lying on his knees.  But he was not reading, as his eyes were fixed darkly on the door through which Bella had just entered.  For the instant, he did not appear to be aware of her presence; then he rose gravely and bowed.  Even in the midst of her dismay at this reception, Bella was woman enough to note how spruce, and trim, and singularly handsome he looked.  Certainly his face was grave and pale, but beyond this she could not see the dying looks which Dora had so eloquently described.  When they came face to face an embarrassing silence ensued.  Bella was the first to speak.

“Are you not pleased to see me, Cyril?” she faltered.

“I am very pleased,” he returned gravely, and pushed forward a chair.  “Will you not be seated?”

“Not until you explain why you receive me in this way,” she declared indignantly.  “You send for me, and I come at once only to find displeased looks.”

“Our last interview explains my looks, Bella.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she cried, up in arms at once; “I admitted my fault in suspecting you then, and asked your pardon.  You left me without a kiss, and - and - ” She stopped with an angry gesture.  “It seems to me that I am the one who has the right to be displeased.”

“No,” said Lister, decidedly.  “I love you very dearly, as you know; but - ”

“How can I tell that you love me dearly?”

“My desire to meet you again shows that I do.  Many a man would have left you for ever on learning, as I did, your cruel suspicions.  You have no right to be displeased, as you said a moment since.  I am the wronged person, for if you really loved me you would believe nothing against me.”

“I do not; I do not.”

“But you did.”

“Only for a single moment.  Oh!” - Bella uttered a cry of despair - “I am only a human being, and I saw you - as I thought - entering the house.  I knew that on my account you had quarrelled with my father, so what could I think but that you had killed him?  I don’t pretend to be an angel.”  She broke off and sat down, pressing her hands hard together, then looked up with feigned self-control.  “We discussed all this before,” she said coldly, “did you invite me here to ask me to defend myself again?”

“No.  I asked you here to learn from your own lips that you believe me to be guiltless.”

“I do.  I swear I do.”  Bella rose in her excitement.  “And I ask your pardon for my wicked suspicions.”

“Bella!” He sprang forward and caught her hands within his own.  “Then you really and truly love me?”

“If you had gone away,” she breathed faintly in his ear, “I should have died.”

Cyril drew her closely to his breast.  “My darling,” he whispered, smoothing her hair, “I love you too dearly to leave you.  I ask your pardon for my harsh words.  On the face of it, I don’t see what you could do but suspect me.  It was unreasonable for me to ask you to do otherwise.  That you believe my mere word, in spite of the strong evidence against me, shows that you love me as dearly and strongly as I love you.  So far, all that is right.  We trust one another.”

“Wholly.  Entirely.  To the death we trust one another.”

“That is well.”  Cyril sat down in the arm-chair, and drew Bella on to his knees.  “Unity is strength.  With you by my side I am not afraid.”

“Then you have been afraid?” she asked softly.

“Of losing your love - yes.  But now I am satisfied on that point, there is another thing that makes me afraid.”

“What is it?”

“I may be accused of this murder.  Other people may have seen me, as you saw me, dear.”

“Then it was you?” she gasped.

“No, no!  I have explained myself.  If necessary, I can put forward an alibi.”

“Who was the man then?”

“I can’t tell you that.”  Cyril pushed her away, and rose much agitated.

“Then you know?” Bella stood back from him doubtfully.

“I can’t be sure.  I think - that is, I fancy - Bella, don’t ask me anything just now.  Later I may be able to explain.”

“And you will explain?”

“If it be possible.  Remember, I said that I might be able to explain, but of this I cannot be certain.”

“I do not understand,” sighed the girl, seating herself again.  “Cyril, has this matter anything to do with you?”

“The matter of the murder?”

“Yes.  I don’t mean to ask if you are guilty, as I know you are not.  But are you connected in any way with the matter?”

“No,” he rejoined promptly, “if I were, I should be an accomplice after the fact.  All the same - ” He paused, looking paler than ever, and his face became peaked and haggard.  “Don’t ask me anything yet,” he murmured.

“I am willing to trust you, dear,” said Bella quietly, “but, as you remarked yourself some time ago, other people - ”

He interrupted her.  “Other people?”

“Yes.  Some one else did see you on that evening.”

“The person saw my double,” corrected Cyril.  “I was in London, as I told you, and as I can prove.  Who is this person?”

“Silas Pence.”

“Ah!” Lister’s hands clenched.  “He hates me because you are to be my wife.  He will go to the police.”

“I don’t think so,” said Bella slowly.  “He threatened to go, but as yet he has held his tongue.”

“Why, when he hates me so?”

“I think - I think,” said Bella slowly, “that Mr. Pence knows more about this matter than he chooses to admit.”

Cyril uttered an exclamation.  “Do you suspect him?”

“Not of the murder,” she replied promptly; “he is too weak and timid a creature to commit a crime.  But I know that he was poor; now he is unexpectedly rich, and we are aware,” she added with emphasis, “that one hundred pounds was stolen from my father’s safe on the night of the murder.”

“But surely you do not connect a harmless man, like Pence, with the crime?”

“I say nothing, because I know nothing, Cyril.  But if Mr. Pence is entirely innocent, why does he not accuse you, whom he hates.”

“He has no grounds to go upon, dear.”

Bella shook her head.  “He thinks that he has,” she answered, “as he believed it was you he saw when he met your double at the boundary channel.  Since he would like to see you in trouble, the very fact that he delays telling the police shows that his own conscience is not easy.”

“It is strange,” assented Lister.  “However, if he does accuse me, I can prove an alibi.”

“But what about your double?”

The young man turned away abruptly to the window.  “I can say nothing on that point at present.”

“When will you explain?”

“I can’t say; sooner or later.”  Lister, with his hands in his pockets, looked out of the window as though to avoid further questioning.  This behaviour puzzled Bella, as she felt sure that Cyril could tell her much if inclined to do so.  But it was odd that he should so decline.  She abruptly reverted to an earlier thought in her mind.  “You did not tell me that you had a negro servant called Durgo.”

Lister wheeled sharply.  “I have no servant, negro or otherwise,” he said in a decisive tone.  “Why do you say that?”

Bella, wondering still more, gave him details, which Cyril heard with a perplexed frown.  He made no comment until she had finished.  “You say that this man recognised my portrait.  In that case I can guess” - he did not finish his sentence, but became paler than ever.