He accordingly presented himself again at Mr. Hale’s that evening.  Her father and Dixon would fain have persuaded Margaret to go to bed; but they, neither of them, knew the reason for her low continued refusals to do so.  Dixon had learnt part of the truth-but only part.  Margaret would not tell any human being of what she had said, and she did not reveal the fatal termination to Leonards’ fall from the platform.  So Dixon curiosity combined with her allegiance to urge Margaret to go to rest, which her appearance, as she lay on the sofa, showed but too clearly that she required.  She did not speak except when spoken to; she tried to smile back in reply to her father’s anxious looks and words of tender enquiry; but, instead of a smile, the wan lips resolved themselves into a sigh.  He was so miserably uneasy that, at last, she consented to go into her own room, and prepare for going to bed.  She was indeed inclined to give up the idea that the inspector would call again that night, as it was already past nine o’clock.

She stood by her father, holding on to the back of his chair.

‘You will go to bed soon, papa, won’t you?  Don’t sit up alone!’

What his answer was she did not hear; the words were lost in the far smaller point of sound that magnified itself to her fears, and filled her brain.  There was a low ring at the door-bell.

She kissed her father and glided down stairs, with a rapidity of motion of which no one would have thought her capable, who had seen her the minute before.  She put aside Dixon.

’Don’t come; I will open the door.  I know it is him—­I can—­I must manage it all myself.’

‘As you please, miss!’ said Dixon testily; but in a moment afterwards, she added, ’But you’re not fit for it.  You are more dead than alive.’

‘Am I?’ said Margaret, turning round and showing her eyes all aglow with strange fire, her cheeks flushed, though her lips were baked and livid still.

She opened the door to the Inspector, and preceded him into the study.  She placed the candle on the table, and snuffed it carefully, before she turned round and faced him.

‘You are late!’ said she.  ‘Well?’ She held her breath for the answer.

’I’m sorry to have given any unnecessary trouble, ma’am; for, after all, they’ve given up all thoughts of holding an inquest.  I have had other work to do and other people to see, or I should have been here before now.’

‘Then it is ended,’ said Margaret.  ’There is to be no further enquiry.’

‘I believe I’ve got Mr. Thornton’s note about me,’ said the Inspector, fumbling in his pocket-book.

‘Mr. Thornton’s!’ said Margaret.

‘Yes! he’s a magistrate—­ah! here it is.’  She could not see to read it—­no, not although she was close to the candle.  The words swam before her.  But she held it in her hand, and looked at it as if she were intently studying it.

’I’m sure, ma’am, it’s a great weight off my mind; for the evidence was so uncertain, you see, that the man had received any blow at all,—­and if any question of identity came in, it so complicated the case, as I told Mr. Thornton—­’