I looked steadily at the man.  Although not well acquainted with him, I couldn’t resist giving expression to my thought.

“But since you are to marry her,” I said, “she need not long be dependent upon her uncle’s charity.”

“Philip Crawford isn’t really her uncle, and no one can say what he will do in the matter.”

Gregory Hall was evidently greatly disturbed at the new situation brought about by the disappearance of Mr. Crawford’s will.  But apparently the main reason for his disturbance was the impending poverty of his fiancee.  There was no doubt that Mr. Carstairs and others who had called this man a fortune-hunter had judged him rightly.

However, without further words on the subject, I waited while Hall locked the door of the office, and then we went together to the great drawing-room, where the funeral services were about to take place.

I purposely selected a position from which I could see the faces of the group of people most nearly connected with the dead man.  I had a strange feeling, as I looked at them, that one of them might be the instrument of the crime which had brought about this funeral occasion.

During the services I looked closely and in turn at each face, but beyond the natural emotions of grief which might be expected, I could read nothing more.

The brother, Philip Crawford, the near neighbors, Mr. Porter and Mr. Hamilton, the lawyer, Mr. Randolph, all sat looking grave and solemn as they heard the last words spoken above their dead friend.  The ladies of the household, quietly controlling their emotions, sat near me, and next to Florence Lloyd Gregory Hall had seated himself.

All of these people I watched closely, half hoping that some inadvertent sign might tell me of someone’s knowledge of the secret.  But when the clergyman referred to the retribution that would sooner or later overtake the criminal.  I could see an expression of fear or apprehension on no face save that of Florence Lloyd.  She turned even whiter than before, her pale lips compressed in a straight line, and her small black gloved hand softly crept into that of Gregory Hall.  The movement was not generally noticeable, but it seemed to me pathetic above all things.  Whatever her position in the matter, she was surely appealing to him for help and protection.

Without directly repulsing her, Hall was far from responsive.  He allowed her hand to rest in his own but gave her no answering pressure, and looked distinctly relieved when, after a moment, she withdrew it.

I saw that Parmalee also had observed this, and I could see that to him it was an indication of the girl’s perturbed spirit.  To me it seemed that it might equally well mean many other things.  For instance it might mean her apprehension for Gregory Hall, who, I couldn’t help thinking was far more likely to be a wrongdoer than the girl herself.

With a little sigh I gave up trying to glean much information from the present opportunity, and contented myself with the melancholy pleasure it gave me simply to look at the sad sweet face of the girl who was already enshrined in my heart.