"There's nowhere else for me to go till I hear from Anne."

"Anne is in town. I'll write to her, and we'll see what can be done."

Portia rose to go, but she expressed no thanks for his kindness. "So you are to marry Anne," she said. "Well, I hope you'll be good to her."

"Don't you think I shall?"

Portia, in spite of her grief, tossed her head. "I don't know," she said; "all men are bad, except my father, who was very, very good," and she looked defiantly at Giles as though challenging contradiction.

But Ware was too sorry for the girl to make any harsh remark. He walked with her to the outer door, and sent her away in a much more cheerful mood. Then he returned to his study, and found Mrs. Morley already seated near his desk. She looked ill and worn, but, in strange contrast to her usual custom, wore a colored gown, and evidently had been trying to dress herself as gaily as possible. She saw the surprised look on Giles' face, and guessed its meaning.

"Yes, Mr. Ware," she said, plucking at her dress, "you see I have my holiday clothes on. Even though Oliver has left me, there is no need for me to go into mourning. No. He has deserted me basely. I am determined to show the world that I don't care."

"Mrs. Morley, your husband is dead."

"Dead!" She half started from her chair, but sat down again with a white face. Then to Giles' horror she began to laugh. He knew that Morley had been a bad husband to the woman before him, but that she should laugh on hearing of his death, made him shiver. He hastily explained how Morley had met with his fate, and Mrs. Morley not only laughed again, but clapped her gloved hands.

"Dead!" she said quite gleefully. "Ah! he was lucky to the last."

Ware thought that the widow must be off her head to talk like this; but Mrs. Morley was perfectly sane, and her exclamation was perfectly natural, as he soon learned. She enlightened him in her next speech.

"Don't you call a man lucky," she said quietly, "who died like my husband in the clean waves of the sea, instead of being hanged as he deserved?"

"What do you mean?" asked the startled Giles.

"Can't you guess?" She drew a paper out of her pocket. "I came here to give you that, Mr. Ware. The confession of my wicked husband."

"Confession?"

"Yes. You will find it particularly interesting, Mr. Ware. It was my miserable husband who murdered Daisy."

"Never!" gasped Giles, rising aghast. "He was in the library all the time. You told----"

"I know what I told," she answered quickly. "I did so to save my name from shame; for the sake of my children I lied. Oliver did not deserve the mercy I showed him. Base to the last he deserted me. Now he is dead.

I am glad to hear it." She paused and laughed. "I shall not change my dress, Mr. Ware."

"Don't, Mrs. Morley," he said, with a shudder.

"Not that name, if you please," she said, and noting her card on the desk she tore it in two. Then opening her case she tore the other cards and scattered them on the floor. "Mrs. Morley is no more. I am Mrs.

Warton. That is the name of my first husband--my true husband--the father of my three children. Yes, Mr. Ware, I have sold my furniture, and let The Elms. To-morrow I leave for the south of France with my children. I land in France as Mrs. Warton, and the old life is gone for ever. Can you blame me?"

"From what I know of Morley I cannot," he stammered. "But what do you know, Mrs. Mor--I mean Mrs. Warton?"

"I know everything. Listen, Mr. Ware. When Oliver married me I was in love with him. I thought he loved me for myself. But it was my money he was after. Some time after our marriage I found that he was a gambler.

He lost all my money at cards. Fortunately there was a sum of a thousand a year settled on me which he could not touch, nor was he able to touch the money left to my children. All the rest (and there was a great deal) he wheedled out of me and spent."

"I wonder you did not put an end to him long ago. I mean I should have thought you would separate from the scoundrel."

Mrs. Morley sighed. "I loved him," she said in low tones. "It took me many a long day to stamp that love out of my heart. I did all he wished me to do. I took The Elms and obtained the guardianship of Daisy. I never thought that he had any design in getting me to take her to live with us. I was one of her father's oldest friends and loved the girl.

Morley managed the affair in such a manner that I did what he wished without knowing I was being coerced."

"Morley was a very clever man."

"And a wicked man," said his widow, without emotion. "I can only think of the way he behaved to me and mine. Daisy always hated him. I could never get her to like him. I don't know what he said or did to her--he always seemed to me to treat her with kindness--but she had an antipathy to him. He thought when she got the Powell money he would do what he liked with her and it. But when he saw she was hostile to him he determined then on her murder."

"You did not know that at the time?" said Giles breathlessly.

"No. Certainly I did not, or I should have sent the girl away. I am only talking by the light of recent events. When that man came to tell Morley about the death of Powell he knew that Daisy would leave the house and marry you as soon as she got the fortune. He tried to induce Denham when he was in the library to kill Daisy, and took down the stiletto for that purpose. Denham refused. Then there was a man called Dane, who came with a message. Morley asked him likewise to kill the girl, and was likewise refused. He saw there was nothing for it but to murder Daisy himself. In a day or so it would have been too late, as she would hear about the money and leave the house. Morley took the stiletto and went to the church in the hope of killing her when she came out and was amidst the crowd of people. He hoped to escape un.o.bserved."

"A rash idea!" observed Giles.

"Oh, its safety lay in its rashness," said the widow coldly. "Well, it happened that Denham lured Daisy out of the church and did not follow for some time. Morley looking at the door saw her come out. She waited for a moment and then walked to her father's grave. Morley followed and killed her by stabbing her in the back as she knelt in the snow by the grave. She fell forward with a cry. He would have repeated the blow but that he saw Denham coming. He fled back to the house. I was in the library when he arrived. He made some excuse, and I never thought anything was wrong."

"Had he the stiletto with him?"

"I believe he had, but I did not see it. Afterwards he took the stiletto back to the churchyard and pretended to find it, so that Anne might be accused. Denham never suspected Morley of the crime. Why, I don't know, as any one who knew what I have told you about his offers to Denham and Dane must have guessed that Morley was guilty."

"How did you learn all this?" asked Giles, glancing at the confession which was in Morley's own handwriting.

"At various times. I did not suspect him at first. But one thing led to another and I watched him. I got at his papers and discovered all about the Scarlet Cross, and----"

"Wait, Mrs. Morley--I mean Warton. Did Morley write that anonymous letter which accused Anne?"

"Yes. He did so, in case it was necessary to kill Daisy. He hoped by hinting beforehand that Anne would be accused. It was Anne's foolish speech to Daisy, saying she would kill her, that gave him the idea. But she meant nothing by it. It was only a few hot words. However, Morley used them to his own end. Well, Mr. Ware, I found out about the thieving gang, and then learned for the first time the kind of man I had married.

My love died out of my heart at once. I took to thinking how I could get away from him. He used to mutter in his sleep, having an uneasy conscience."

"I should think he was too strong a man to have a conscience."

"Well, he muttered in his sleep at all events. From what he said I discovered that he had something to do with the death of Daisy. I accused him, and told him that I knew all about his Scarlet Cross wickedness. He denied the truth of this at first. Afterwards, little by little, I got the truth out of him. I then made him write out that confession and sign it, so that I could save Anne should she be caught.

I promised for the sake of my own name and my children not to use the confession unless Anne was taken. That is why Morley ran away with Anne.

He fancied that she would continue to bear the blame, and also"--here Mrs. Wharton hesitated and glanced at Giles--"I fancy that Oliver was in love with Miss Denham."

"The scoundrel!" cried Giles furiously.

Mrs. Wharton--as she now called herself--laughed coldly and rose to depart. "I don't think it matters much now," she said. "Anne was not drowned also, was she?"

"No," replied Ware, shuddering; "she is in London, and I hope shortly to make her my wife."

"I wish her all happiness," said Mrs. Wharton, without emotion. "I always liked Anne, and for her sake I secured that confession. That, when published, will vindicate her character. You need have no hesitation in showing it to the police and in letting that detective deal with it as he thinks fit. In a few days I shall be in France under the name of Mrs. Wharton, and the past will be dead to me. Good-bye."

She held out her hand.

"Good-bye," answered Giles, shaking it heartily. "I trust you will be happy, Mrs. Wharton."

"I shall be at peace, if nothing else," she replied, and so pa.s.sed from the room, and out of his life.

Giles showed the confession to Steel, who was delighted that the real culprit had at last been discovered. But he was sorely disappointed at the suicide of Denham. "It spoils the case," he said.

"You are going to bring the matter into court, then," said Giles.