“It has almost broken Charlie’s heart,” she said at last; “but he thinks it was murder, and that Hurd will pay the penalty; nay, more “—­she spoke with a kind of religious awe in her gentle voice—­“that he ought to be glad to pay it.  He believes it to be God’s will, and I have heard him say that he would even have executions in public again—­under stricter regulations of course—­that we may not escape, as we always do if we can—­from all sight and thought of God’s justice and God’s punishments.”

Marcella shuddered and rose.  She almost threw Mary’s hand away from her.

“Tell your brother from me, Mary,” she said, “that his God is to me just a constable in the service of the English game-laws!  If He is such a one, I at least will fling my Everlasting No at him while I live.”

And she swept from the room, leaving Mary aghast.

* * * * *

Meanwhile there was consternation and wrath at Maxwell Court, where Aldous, on his return from Mellor, had first of all given his great-aunt the news of the coroner’s verdict, and had then gone on to break to her the putting-off of the marriage.  His championship of Marcella in the matter, and his disavowal of all grievance were so quiet and decided, that Miss Raeburn had been only able to allow herself a very modified strain of comment and remonstrance, so long as he was still there to listen.  But she was all the more outspoken when he was gone, and Lady Winterbourne was sitting with her.  Lady Winterbourne, who was at home alone, while her husband was with a married daughter on the Riviera, had come over to dine tete-a-tete with her friend, finding it impossible to remain solitary while so much was happening.

“Well, my dear,” said Miss Raeburn, shortly, as her guest entered the room, “I may as well tell you at once that Aldous’s marriage is put off.”

“Put off!” exclaimed Lady Winterbourne, bewildered.  “Why it was only Thursday that I was discussing it all with Marcella, and she told me everything was settled.”

“Thursday!—­I dare say!” said Miss Raeburn, stitching away with fiery energy, “but since then a poacher has murdered one of our gamekeepers, which makes all the difference.”

“What do you mean, Agneta?”

“What I say, my dear.  The poacher was Marcella’s friend, and she cannot now distract her mind from him sufficiently to marry Aldous, though every plan he has in the world will be upset by her proceedings.  And as for his election, you may depend upon it she will never ask or know whether he gets in next Monday or no.  That goes without saying.  She is meanwhile absorbed with the poacher’s defence, Mr. Wharton, of course, conducting it.  This is your modern young woman, my dear—­typical, I should think.”

Miss Raeburn turned her buttonhole in fine style, and at lightning speed, to show the coolness of her mind, then with a rattling of all her lockets, looked up and waited for Lady Winterbourne’s reflections.