women love him, always did love him, the fools! Why, _I_ used to love
him. You wouldn't think that now, would you? Well, I did." She laughed a
broken cackle, and seemed surprised that her listener remained mute.
"Did you love him?" demanded the crone sneeringly.

"Love him--love him?" exclaimed Mrs. Marteen, her emotions responding
where her mind was unreceptive. "I hated him--I hated him!"

"Of course you hated him. How could a lady help hating him?" murmured
the questioner. "But would _you_ have the courage to kill him--that's
what I want to know!"

Under the inquisition Mrs. Marteen half roused to consciousness. She was
in the semi-lucid state of a sleepwalker.

"Kill him!" She held up her hands and looked at them as she had done
after reading the account of the murder. "I'm not sure I didn't kill
him; perhaps I did--I can't remember--I can't remember," she moaned more
and more faintly.

"Don't you take the credit of _that_!" shouted the woman, so loudly that
a young man who had been aimlessly walking up and down as if intent upon
some rendezvous, stopped short to gaze at them keenly.

The older woman, with a movement so rapid that it seemed almost
prestidigitation, lifted and threw back her companion's veil. The young
man gave a start and approached hastily, amazement in every feature. But
the two women were unaware of his presence, and what he next heard made
him pause, turn, and by a slight detour come up close behind the bench.