“Lionel, I cannot divest myself of the opinion that—­that——­”

“That what?” he asked, looking at her in wonder, for she was hesitating strangely, her manner shrinking, her voice awe-struck.

“That it was Dr. West who took the codicil.”

Lionel’s face flushed—­partially with pain; he did not like to hear it said, even by Decima.

“You have never suspected so much yourself?” she asked.

“Never, never.  I hope I never shall suspect it.  Decima, you perhaps cannot help the thought, but you can help speaking of it.”

“I did not mean to vex you.  Somehow, Lionel, it is for your sake that I seem to have taken a dislike to the Wests——­”

“To take a dislike to people is no just cause for accusing them of crime,” he interrupted.  “Decima, you are not like yourself to-day.”

“Do you suppose that it is my dislike which caused me to suspect him.  No, Lionel.  I seem to see people and their motives very clearly; and I do honestly believe”—­she dropped her voice still lower—­“that Dr. West is a man capable of almost anything.  At the time when the codicil was being searched for, I used to think and think it over, how it could be—­how it could have disappeared.  All its points, all its bearings, I deliberated upon again and again.  One certain thing was, the codicil could not have disappeared from the desk without its having been taken out.  Another point, almost equally certain to my mind, was that my Uncle Stephen did not take it out, but died in the belief that it was in, and that it would give you your inheritance.  A third point was, that whoever took it must have had some strong motive for the act.  Who (with possible access to the desk) could have had this motive, even in a remote degree?  There were but two—­Dr. West and Mrs. Verner.  Mrs. Verner I judge to be incapable of anything so wrong; Dr. West I believe to be capable of even worse than that.  Hence I drew my deductions.”

“Deductions which I shall never accept, and which I would advise you to get rid of, Decima,” was his answer.  “My dear, never let such an accusation cross your lips again.”

“I never shall.  I have told you; and that is enough.  I have longed to tell you for some time past.  I did not think you would believe me.”

“Believe it, you should say, Decima.  Dr. West take the codicil!  Were I to bring myself to that belief, I think all my faith in man would go out.  You are sadly prejudiced against the Wests.”

“And you in their favour,” she could not help saying.  “But I shall ever be thankful for one thing—­that you have escaped Sibylla.”

Was he thankful for it?  Scarcely, while that pained heart of his, those coursing pulses, could beat on in this tumultuous manner at the bare sound of her name.

In the silence that ensued—­for neither felt inclined to break it—­they heard a voice in the hall below, inquiring whether Mr. Verner was within.  Lionel recognised it as Tynn’s.