‘This is Norah Kennedy,’ said Mr Openshaw.

‘Oh, sir,’ said Norah, ’I did not touch the brooch; indeed I did not.  Oh, sir, I cannot live to be thought so badly of’; and very sick and faint, she suddenly sank down on the ground.  To her surprise, Mr Openshaw raised her up very tenderly.  Even the policeman helped to lay her on the sofa; and, at Mr Openshaw’s desire, he went for some wine and sandwiches; for the poor gaunt woman lay there almost as if dead with weariness and exhaustion.

‘Norah,’ said Mr Openshaw, in his kindest voice, ’the brooch is found.  It was hanging to Mrs Chadwick’s gown.  I beg your pardon.  Most truly I beg your pardon, for having troubled you about it.  My wife is almost broken-hearted.  Eat, Norah—­or, stay, first drink this glass of wine,’ said he, lifting her head, and pouring a little down her throat.

As she drank, she remembered where she was, and who she was waiting for.  She suddenly pushed Mr Openshaw away, saying, ’Oh, sir, you must go.  You must not stop a minute.  If he comes back, he will kill you.’

’Alas, Norah!  I do not know who “he” is.  But someone is gone away who will never come back:  someone who knew you, and whom I am afraid you cared for.’

‘I don’t understand you, sir,’ said Norah, her master’s kind and sorrowful manner bewildering her yet more than his words.  The policeman had left the room at Mr Openshaw’s desire, and they two were alone.

’You know what I mean, when I say someone is gone who will never come back.  I mean that he is dead!’

‘Who?’ said Norah, trembling all over.

‘A poor man has been found in the Thames this morning—­drowned.’

‘Did he drown himself?’ asked Norah, solemnly.

‘God only knows,’ replied Mr Openshaw, in the same tone.  ’Your name and address at our house were found in his pocket; that, and his purse, were the only things that were found upon him.  I am sorry to say it, my poor Norah; but you are required to go and identify him.’

‘To what?’ asked Norah.

’To say who it is.  It is always done, in order that some reason may be discovered for the suicide—­if suicide it was.  I make no doubt, he was the man who came to see you at our house last night.  It is very sad, I know.’  He made pauses between each little clause, in order to try and bring back her senses, which he feared were wandering—­so wild and sad was her look.

‘Master Openshaw,’ said she, at last, ’I’ve a dreadful secret to tell you—­only you must never breathe it to anyone, and you and I must hide it away for ever.  I thought to have done it all by myself, but I see I cannot.  Yon poor man—­yes! the dead, drowned creature is, I fear, Mr Frank, my mistress’s first husband!’

Mr Openshaw sat down, as if shot.  He did not speak; but, after a while, he signed to Norah to go on.

’He came to me the other night, when—­God be thanked!—­you were all away at Richmond.  He asked me if his wife was dead or alive.  I was a brute, and thought more of your all coming home than of his sore trial; I spoke out sharp, and said she was married again, and very content and happy.  I all but turned him away:  and now he lies dead and cold.’