- Does it strike too cold on that sensitive place?"

"I don't feel it. How did she murder? Whom did she murder?" "Why,

the deed may not have merited quite so terrible a name," said

Herbert, "but, she was tried for it, and Mr. Jaggers defended her,

and the reputation of that defence first made his name known to

Provis. It was another and a stronger woman who was the victim, and

there had been a struggle - in a barn. Who began it, or how fair it

was, or how unfair, may be doubtful; but how it ended, is certainly

not doubtful, for the victim was found throttled."

"Was the woman brought in guilty?"

"No; she was acquitted. - My poor Handel, I hurt you!"

"It is impossible to be gentler, Herbert. Yes? What else?"

"This acquitted young woman and Provis had a little child: a little

child of whom Provis was exceedingly fond. On the evening of the

very night when the object of her jealousy was strangled as I tell

you, the young woman presented herself before Provis for one

moment, and swore that she would destroy the child (which was in

her possession), and he should never see it again; then, she

vanished. - There's the worst arm comfortably in the sling once

more, and now there remains but the right hand, which is a far

easier job. I can do it better by this light than by a stronger,

for my hand is steadiest when I don't see the poor blistered

patches too distinctly. - You don't think your breathing is

affected, my dear boy? You seem to breathe quickly."

"Perhaps I do, Herbert. Did the woman keep her oath?"

"There comes the darkest part of Provis's life. She did."

"That is, he says she did."

"Why, of course, my dear boy," returned Herbert, in a tone of

surprise, and again bending forward to get a nearer look at me. "He

says it all. I have no other information."

"No, to be sure."

"Now, whether," pursued Herbert, "he had used the child's mother

ill, or whether he had used the child's mother well, Provis doesn't

say; but, she had shared some four or five years of the wretched

life he described to us at this fireside, and he seems to have felt

pity for her, and forbearance towards her. Therefore, fearing he

should be called upon to depose about this destroyed child, and so

be the cause of her death, he hid himself (much as he grieved for

the child), kept himself dark, as he says, out of the way and out

of the trial, and was only vaguely talked of as a certain man

called Abel, out of whom the jealousy arose. After the acquittal

she disappeared, and thus he lost the child and the child's

mother."

"I want to ask--"

"A moment, my dear boy, and I have done. That evil genius,

Compeyson, the worst of scoundrels among many scoundrels, knowing

of his keeping out of the way at that time, and of his reasons for

doing so, of course afterwards held the knowledge over his head as

a means of keeping him poorer, and working him harder. It was clear

last night that this barbed the point of Provis's animosity."

"I want to know," said I, "and particularly, Herbert, whether he

told you when this happened?"

"Particularly? Let me remember, then, what he said as to that. His

expression was, 'a round score o' year ago, and a'most directly

after I took up wi' Compeyson.' How old were you when you came upon

him in the little churchyard?"

"I think in my seventh year."

"Ay. It had happened some three or four years then, he said, and

you brought into his mind the little girl so tragically lost, who

would have been about your age."

"Herbert," said I, after a short silence, in a hurried way, "can

you see me best by the light of the window, or the light of the

fire?"

"By the firelight," answered Herbert, coming close again.

"Look at me."

"I do look at you, my dear boy."

"Touch me."

"I do touch you, my dear boy."

"You are not afraid that I am in any fever, or that my head is much

disordered by the accident of last night?"

"N-no, my dear boy," said Herbert, after taking time to examine me.