She had endured the shame of her husband's distrust. The man she loved so dearly had cast her from him with disdain and aversion. What new agony could await her equal to that through which she had passed.
Reginald Eversleigh's hatred and rage betrayed him into passing the limits of prudence. He told the story of the destroyed will, and boldly accused Lady Eversleigh of having destroyed it.
"You forget yourself, Sir Reginald," said the coroner; "you are here as a witness, and not as an accuser."
"But am I to keep silence, when I know that yonder woman is guilty of a crime by which I am robbed of my heritage?" cried the young man, passionately. "Who but she was interested in the destruction of that will? Who had so strong a motive for wishing my uncle's death? Why was she hiding in the castle after her pretended departure, except for some guilty purpose? She left her own apartments before dusk, after writing a farewell letter to her husband. Where was she, and what was she doing, after leaving those apartments?"
"Let me answer those questions, Sir Reginald Eversleigh," said a voice from the doorway.
The young baronet turned and recognized the speaker. It was his uncle's old friend, Captain Copplestone, who had made his way into the room unheard while Reginald had been giving his evidence. He was still seated in his invalid-chair--still unable to move without its aid.
"Let me answer those questions," he repeated. "I have only just heard of Lady Eversleigh's painful position. I beg to be sworn immediately, for my evidence may be of some importance to that lady."
Reginald sat down, unable to contest the captain's right to be heard, though he would fain have done so.
Lady Eversleigh for the first time that day gave evidence of some slight emotion. She raised her eyes to Captain Copplestone's bronzed face with a tearful glance, expressive of gratitude and confidence.
The captain was duly sworn, and then proceeded to give his evidence, in brief, abrupt sentences, without waiting to be questioned.
"You ask where Lady Eversleigh spent the night of her husband's death, and how she spent it. I can answer both those questions. She spent that night in my room, nursing a sick old man, who was mad with the tortures of rheumatic gout, and weeping over Sir Oswald's refusal to believe in her innocence.