“I am sure she will, Justin.  Never did I meet with any one who has a higher sense of honour than she.  I believe she would rather die than do a mean thing.”

“And yet,” I said wearily, “I am almost certain I did not kill Kaffar.  I can remember nothing distinctly, and yet I have the consciousness that I never struck him a blow.”

“And I, too, am sure you did not do this, Justin,” replied Tom.  “I felt that he was acting, in spite of the terrible evidence against you.  But what is the use?  If you cannot find the Egyptian, he will marry Miss Forrest, and after that—­well, all seems hopeless.”

“It shall not be hopeless,” I said.  “If he is alive, he shall be found, and I will bring him back, and she shall see him.”

“Ah, yes; and that reminds me, Justin, she bade me tell you that she would be in her own home at Kensington until after the next new year.”

This made me joyful in spite of everything.  She still had an interest in me; she still believed me innocent.

“By the way, Tom,” I said, after another short silence, “have you found out anything in relation to the ghost which appeared here during my visit?”

“Nothing definite.  Stay, I forgot.  Simon Slowden said he had something particular to tell you when you came to Yorkshire again.  I asked him the subject of this ‘something particular,’ and he said it was about the ghost.  I tried to make him explain further, but could not.”

“I’ll see Simon at once,” I said.  “I cannot afford to let anything pass without examining it.  Any little thing might give a clue to the mystery.”

I sought Simon in the stable-yard, and found him as grim and platonic as ever.

“Glad to see yer honour,” said Simon, hastily.  “I’ve made up my mind scores of times to write a letter, but I hev had sich bad luck wi’ letters, that I ‘adn’t the necessary quantity o’ pluck, you know.”

“Bad luck with your letters, Simon?  How?”

“Why, yer see, yer honour, after the doctor experimented on me by waccinatin’ me agin’ small-pox, cholera, and the measles, together wi’ ‘oopin’ cough and several other baby complaints as ’ev a hinjurious effect upon people as ’ev cut their wisdom teeth, you know as I told yer honour that I caught that ’ere werry disease of small-pox which spiled my beauty for ever.  Well, as I told yer months ago, I went to the ’ousemaid for a mite ’o comfort, and catches ‘er a-courtin’ wi’ the coachman.  So I goes ’ome, and I says I’ll write ’er a letter as would charm a dead duck in a saucepan.  So I begins my letter this yer way:  ’My dearest dear,’ I says, ’times es bad, and people be glad to catch anything; so I, thinkin’ small-pox better than nothin’, catched that.  Forgive me, and I’ll never do so no more.  I’m cryin’ all the day, as though I got my livin’ wi’ skinnin’ onions.  Relieve me, my dear, or my feelin’s will be too much for me.  They be fillin’ me faster ’n I can dispose