Chapter 8.

Circumstantial Evidence

And now that the interest was at its height, that the veil which shrouded this horrible tragedy

seemed about to be lifted, it thought entirely, withdrawn, I felt a desire to fly the scene,

to leave the spot, to know no more.

Not that I was conscious of any particular fear of this woman betraying herself.

The cold steadiness of her now fixed, an impassive countenance, was sufficient warranty

in itself against the possibility of any such catastrophe.

But if indeed the suspicions of her cousin were the offspring not only of hatred, but of

knowledge, if that face of beauty was in truth only a mask, and Eleanor Levinworth was

what the words of her cousin and her own after behavior would seem to imply, how could

I bear to sit there and see the frightful serpent of deceit and sin of all itself from

the bosom of this white rose.

And yet, such is the fascination of uncertainty, that although I saw something of my own feelings

reflected in the countenances of many about me, not a man in all that assemblage, showed

any disposition to depart, I least of all.

The corner, upon whom the blonde loveliness of Mary had impressed itself to Eleanor's

apparent detriment, was the only one in the room who showed himself unaffected at this

moment.

Turning toward the witness, with a look which, while respectful, had a touch of austerity

in it, he began,

You have been an intimate of Mr. Levinworth's family from childhood, they tell me, Miss

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