concentrated on the figure on the floor. Suddenly diving under the barrier, she fled to his side and sank down, a mere swirl of draperies. Denis, distracted, stooped over her. "Don't--don't!" he said. "Let us fetch a doctor--perhaps he's only fainted--"
"Fainted!" She raised her tragic little head; her eyes, ranging round the room, met and fixed on Gardiner. "He's been murdered!" she cried out. "Murdered--and you did it, you!"
The imaginative man is at the mercy of his nerves; there is always an unsound link in his courage, liable to snap at any unexpected strain. It is a question of sheer luck whether he finds out his weakness and is able to take precautions beforehand. The unimaginative man never understands this. To Denis's infinite dismay, Gardiner simply backed into the corner, throwing up his arm as if to ward a blow. Denis himself cried out the first denial that rose to his lips.
"Mrs. Trent, it was an accident, I give you my word it was!"
"It was murder," she contradicted swiftly, her young voice gathering depth and force, scorn and anguish, her outstretched finger quivering. "He did it, he killed him, I read it in his eyes. Oh, he was all I had in the world, and you've taken him away! Oh, what shall I do--what shall I do?"
"Harry! Say something--tell her it's a mistake!"
"He can't!" cried the girl. "Look, look at him cowering there! Murderer! He daren't face me--he can't deny it!"
Less of his own will than because Denis's hands were on his shoulders, Gardiner slowly turned. He looked hang-dog. "I didn't do it!" he muttered, his eyes on the ground. "You heard what my friend said--it was an accident!" And then more loudly, gaining confidence: "I swear I never laid a finger on him--did I, Denis? I would have said so before--I would have explained at once, if I'd taken in what you were saying."
"You didn't lay a finger on him?" Mrs. Trent laughed out, a queer high note of triumph. "Ah--but you killed him all the same! I know! I can prove it! What I have here--Besides, look, look at his darling face--Oh, Guy!" The name broke from her in a great tremulous convulsive sob. She put out her hands blindly, clutching the edge of the table. "Oh, what is it? Oh, oh, it hurts!--I'm frightened--Louisa!"
"Great heavens! Ring the bell, Denis--quick!"
Denis nearly brought down the bell-rope. The next minutes were all confusion. People gathered like flies: the boots, Miss Marvin, half-a-dozen frightened servants, at last Mrs. Trent's elderly maid. She threw up her hands in horror, but she wasted no time on the dead man; her concern was all for her mistress. "Come away, Miss Dot dear, come! 'Tain't fit for you here!" The girl, shaken now by terrifying sobs, suffered herself to be led away; their steps died out down the passage.
Meanwhile the doctor had 

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