“Well, well, what is it now?” inquired the latter, pausing and turning back.

“That poor, misguided girl, Rose Cameron,” said the valet.

“Well, what of her, man?” impatiently demanded the young nobleman.

“Listen, my lord duke!  You saw her committed to prison on the charge of perjury.”

“A charge that she was self-convicted of.”

“My lord duke, she was not guilty of perjury!” sighed the valet.

“What!  What is that you say?” quickly demanded the duke.

“I say, Rose Cameron, poor misguided girl that she was, did not, however, perjure herself—­intentionally I mean,” repeated John Potts.

“Is she mad, then?  The victim of a monomania?” gravely inquired the duke, fixing his eyes upon the troubled face of the valet.

“No, your grace, she was never more in her right senses.”

“What do you mean?  Do you dare—­”

“My lord duke, I dare nothing.  I never was a daring man; if I had been, the daring would have been taken out of me by the troubles of this last quarter of a year!  But, my lord duke, I am right.  Rose Cameron did not intentionally perjure herself, neither is she mad.  Rose Cameron believes in her heart every word of the statement she made under oath in the open court this morning.”

While the man thus spoke, the duke looked fixedly at him in perfect silence, in the forlorn hope of hearing some solution to the enigma.

“Rose Cameron was deceived, my lord duke—­grossly, cruelly, basely deceived—­not in one respect only, but in many.  She was, first of all, deceived into the idea of being the wife of a gentleman of high rank, when, in fact she is nobody’s wife at all.  Next she was deceived into becoming an accomplice in a robbery and murder, of which she was as ignorant and as innocent as—­as myself.  She could not have been more so!”

“Who was her deceiver?” sternly demanded the duke.

“I beg pardon.  I know no more than your grace!  I only presumed to speak about it, so as to explain the strange conduct of that poor girl, and clear her of intentional penury in your sight,” said the valet, meekly.

“Potts, you know much more than you are willing to divulge.  You have, however, unwittingly given me a clew that I shall take care to follow up.  Once more let me warn you to get rid of sinful secrets, and amend your life, if you wish to be at peace.  Good-night.”

So saying, the duke walked rapidly away to make up for the time lost in talking with the ex-valet.

It was after eleven o’clock when he reached the Arondelle Arms, yet the little hostel gave no signs of closing.  The windows were all still ablaze with light, and the bar and the tap-room were uproarious with fun.  Evidently the Clan Scott had been drinking the health of the duke and duchess until they had become—­

“Glorious! 
O’er all the ills of life victorious!”