“Perhaps,” he said, “I have been to blame. ‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. After rifling the room of everything portable, including some of Mrs. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. ‘But don’t let me stop you from going to see Charvill.
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