After the funeral Lady Wentworth invited Frances to be her guest for a
week or two, and upon my advice the invitation was accepted.

Two or three days after the funeral, while Frances and I were walking out
together, she complained of young Wentworth's attentions.

"To-day he put his arm about me," she said, laughing, though indignant.

"And what did you say and do?" I asked.

"I simply remarked that I disliked the touch of half-witted persons,
whereupon he declared that he had wit enough to be offended. Then I told
him he should thank heaven for the small favor and pray God to help him
use it."

After cautioning her to secrecy, I told her of the ugly whispers that
were abroad connecting young Wentworth, Crofts, and Berkeley with the
murder of old Roger.

"No, no!" she cried, greatly agitated. "I saw the two men who did it. I
saw them in the light of Noah's lanthorn. Neither of them was young
Wentworth."

I at once grew interested and asked her to describe the men she saw.

"No, no, no!" she cried vehemently, almost hysterically. I thought she
was going to weep, so I said in haste:--

"Don't weep, Frances! You must forget."