"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?"

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