"
He glanced downward at the naked sword he had carried throughout his
search. Fareham's was in the scabbard, and he answered that glance with an
insulting smile.
"You think I have murdered her, perhaps," he said. "Well, I would rather
see her dead than yours. So far I am in capacity a murderer."
They met Sir John in Lady Fareham's drawing-room, when Denzil had gone over
the whole house, trusting nothing to the father's scrutiny.
"He has stabbed her and dropped her murdered body down a well," cried the
Knight, half distraught. "He cannot have spirited her away otherwise. Look
at him, Denzil; look at that haggard wretch I have called my son. He has
the assassin's aspect."
Something--it might be the room in which they were standing--brought back
to Angela's betrothed the memory of that Christmas night when aunt and
niece had been missing, and when he, Denzil, had burst into this room,
where Fareham was seated at chess; who, at the first mention of Angela's
name, started up, white with horror, to join in the search. It was he who
found her then; it was he who had hidden her now; and in the same remote
and secret spot.
"Fool that I was not to remember sooner!" cried Denzil.
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