The others followed suit, and they all took leave in character;—­Molloy, with an eager business reference to the order of the day for Saturday,—­“Give me your address at Widrington; I’ll post you everything to-night, so that you may have it all under your eye”—­Casey, with the off-hand patronage of the man who would not for the world have his benevolence mistaken for servility,—­and Wilkins with as gruff a nod and as limp a shake of the hand as possible.  It might perhaps have been read in the manner of the last two, that although this young man had just made a most remarkable impression, and was clearly destined to go far, they were determined not to yield themselves to him a moment before they must.  In truth, both were already jealous of him; whereas Molloy, absorbed in the business of the congress, cared for nothing except to know whether in the next two days’ debates Wharton would show himself as good a chairman as he was an orator; and Bennett, while saying no word that he did not mean, was fully conscious of an inner judgment, which pronounced five minutes of Edward Hallin’s company to be worth more to him than anything which this brilliant young fellow could do or say.

* * * * *

Wharton saw them out, then came back and threw himself again into his chair by the window.  The venetian blinds were not closed, and he looked out on a wide and handsome street of tall red-brick houses and shops, crowded with people and carriages, and lit with a lavishness of gas which overcame even the February dark and damp.  But he noticed nothing, and even the sensation of his triumph was passing off.  He was once more in the Mellor drive; Aldous Raeburn and Marcella stood in front of him; the thrill of the moment beat once more in his pulse.

He buried his head in his hands and thought.  The news of the murder had reached him from Mr. Boyce.  The master of Mellor had heard the news from William, the man-servant, at half-past seven, and had instantly knocked up his guest, by way of sharing the excitement with which his own feeble frame was throbbing.

“By Gad!  I never heard such an atrocious business,” said the invalid, his thin hand shaking against his dressing-gown.  “That’s what your Radical notions bring us to!  We shall have them plundering and burning the country houses next.”

“I don’t think my Radical notions have much to do with it,” said Wharton, composedly.

But there was a red spot in his cheeks which belied his manner.  So when he—­they—­saw Hurd cross the avenue he was on his way to this deed of blood.  The shot that he, Wharton, had heard had been the shot which slew Westall?  Probably.  Well, what was the bearing of it?  Could she keep her own counsel or would they find themselves in the witness box?  The idea quickened his pulse amazingly.

“Any clue?  Any arrests?” he asked of his host.  “Why, I told you,” said Boyce, testily, though as a matter of fact he had said nothing.  “They have got that man Hurd.  The ruffian has been a marked man by the keepers and police, they tell me, for the last year or more.  And there’s my daughter has been pampering him and his wife all the time, and preaching to me about them!  She got Raeburn even to take him on at the Court.  I trust it will be a lesson to her.”