“This is a most extraordinary revelation,” the clergyman was saying.  “I really don’t know what to think.”

“What is it?” asked Mr. Bryson.

“A story which, wildly incredible as it seems, is yet true as Holy Writ,” answered the prisoner.  “The real murderer is found.  She has been here, and admitted her guilt.”

“What!” exclaimed the lawyer.  “Sybilla Silver?”

“Why!” cried the warden, in wonder, “you, too?”

“Exactly,” said Mr. Bryson, with a nod.  “I know all about it.  A most important witness has turned up—­no other than the missing man, Mr. Parmalee.  He saw the deed done—­saw Sybilla Silver, dressed in Sir Everard’s clothes, do it, and has come all the way from America to testify against her.  Sir Everard, my dear friend, from the bottom of my soul I congratulate you on your most blessed escape!”

“Thank you!” he said.  “If my life is spared, it is for some good end, no doubt.  Thank God!  A felon’s death would have been very bitter, and for my mother’s sake I rejoice.”

“Not for your own?”

“I have lost all that made life sweet.  My wife is in heaven.  For me earth holds nothing but penitence and remorse.”

“I am not so sure about that.  I have better news for you even than the news I have told.  My dear friend, can you bear a great shock—­a shock of joy?”

He sprung up in bed, electrified.

“Speak!” he gasped.  “Oh, for God’s sake——­”

“Your wife is alive!”

There was a simultaneous cry.

Mr. Bryson hurried on rapidly: 

“Sybilla Silver stabbed her, and threw her over upon the shore.  Mr. Parmalee picked her up—­not dead, but badly wounded—­took her on board a vessel—­took her finally to America.  Sybilla Silver deceived your poor wife as she deceived us all.  Lady Kingsland thought it was you, Sir Everard.  But she is alive and well, and in Worrel at this very moment.  Our first business is to cage our bird before she flies.  Can you aid us any, Sir Everard?  Where are we most likely to find her?”

“At the Court,” the baronet answered.  “She left here to go there—­to kill my mother with her horrible news, if she could.”

“We will leave you now,” Mr. Bryson said, rising.  “Come, gentlemen; Sir Everard wants to be alone.  I am off to secure my prisoner.”

It was on his way back to his own house that Mr. Bryson lighted on his ghostly plan for frightening Sybilla.  How well it succeeded you know.

She was still insensible when they reached the prison, and was handed over to the proper authorities.  Harriet turned her imploring face toward the lawyer.

“Let me go to my husband!  Oh, dear Mr. Bryson, let me go at once!”

They led her to the door.  The jailer admitted her and closed it again.  She was in her husband’s prison-cell.  Her arms were around his neck, her tears, her kisses raining on his face.