“Mr. Kane, the music master?”

“Yes, my lady.  She and Mrs. Kane were quite ladies; had been governesses.  People said she lowered herself greatly in marrying my father.  However, they did marry, and at the end of the year my little sister Afy was born.  We lived in a pretty cottage in the wood and were happy.  But in twelve months more my step-mother died, and an aunt of hers adopted Afy.  I lived with my father, going to school, then to learn dressmaking, and finally going out to work to ladies’ houses.  After many years.  Afy came home.  Her aunt had died and her income with her, but not the vanity and love of finery that Afy had acquired.  She did nothing but dress herself and read novels.  My father was angry; he said no good could come of it.  She had several admirers, Mr. Richard Hare, Miss Barbara’s own brother,” continued Joyce, lowering her voice, “and she flirted with them all.  My father used to go out to shoot on fine evenings after office, or to his duties as secretary to the library, and so Afy was generally all alone until I came home at nine o’clock; and was free to flirt with her beaux.”

“Had she any she favored particularly, was it thought?” asked Lady Isabel.

“The chief one, my lady, was Richard Hare.  She got acquainted with somebody else, a stranger, who used to ride over from a distance to see her; but I fancy there was nothing in it—­Richard was the one.  And it went on till—­till—­he killed her father.”

“Who?” uttered the startled Isabel.

“Richard Hare, my lady.  Father had told Afy that Mr. Richard should not come there any longer, for when gentlemen go in secret after poor girls, it’s well known they have not got marriage in their thoughts; father would have interfered more than he did, but that he judged well of Mr. Richard, and did not think he was one to do Afy real harm,—­but he did not know how flighty she was.  However, one day he heard people talk about it in West Lynne, coupling her name and Mr. Richard’s offensively together, and at night he told Afy, before me, that it should not go on any longer, and she must not encourage him.  My lady, the next night Richard Hare shot my father.”

“How very dreadful!”

“Whether it was done on purpose, or that they had a scuffle, and the gun went off accidentally and killed my father, no one can tell.  Afy said she had been in the woods at the back of the house, and when she came in, father lay dead, and Mr. Locksley was standing over him.  He said he had heard the shot, and come up just in time to see Richard fly from the house, his shoes covered with blood.  He has never been heard of since; but there is a judgment of murder out against him; and the fear and shame is killing his mother by inches.”

“And Afy?”

“The worst is to come my lady.  Afy followed him directly after the inquest, and nothing has been known since of either of them.  I was taken ill, after all these shocks, with nervous fever, and Miss Carlyle took care of me, and I have remained with her ever since.  This was what I had to tell you, my lady, before you decided to take me into service; it is not every lady who would like to engage one whose sister has turned out so badly.”