Down deep in Lionel Verner’s heart there had lain a conviction, almost ever since that fatal night, that the man had been no other than the one now spoken of, the younger Massingbird.  Why the impression should have come to him he could not have told at the time; something, perhaps, in Frederick’s manner had given rise to it.  On the night before John Massingbird’s departure for Australia, after the long interview he had held with Mr. Verner in the study, which was broken in upon by Lionel on the part of Robin Frost, the three young men—­the Massingbirds and Lionel—­had subsequently remained together, discussing the tragedy.  In that interview it was that a sudden doubt of Frederick Massingbird entered the mind of Lionel.  It was impossible for him to tell why.  He only knew that the impression—­nay, it were more correct to say the conviction, seized hold upon him, never to be eradicated.  Perhaps something strange in Frederick’s manner awoke it.  Lionel surmised not how far his guilt might have extended; but that he was the guilty one, he fully believed.  It was not his business to proclaim this; had it been a certainty, instead of a fancy, Lionel would not have made it his business.  But when Frederick Massingbird was on the point of marrying Sibylla, then Lionel partially broke through his reserve, and asked him whether he had nothing on his conscience that ought to prevent his making her his wife.  Frederick answered freely and frankly, to all appearance, and for the moment Lionel’s doubts were dissipated:  only, however, to return afterwards with increased force.  Consequently he was not surprised to hear this said, though surprised at Matthew Frost’s knowing it.

“How did you hear it, Matthew?” he asked.

“Robin got at it, sir.  Poor Robin, he was altogether on the wrong scent for a long while, thinking it was Mr. John; but it’s set right now, and Robin, he’s at ease.  May Heaven have mercy upon Frederick Massingbird!”

Successful rival though he had proved to him, guilty man that he had been, Lionel heartily echoed the prayer.  He asked no more questions of the old man upon the subject, but afterwards, when he was going out, he met Robin and stopped him.

“Robin, what is this that your father has been telling me about Frederick Massingbird?”

“Only to think of it!” was Robin’s response, growing somewhat excited.  “To think how our ways get balked!  I had swore to be revenged—­as you know, sir—­and now the power of revenge is took from me!  He’s gone where my revenge can’t reach him.  It’s of no good—­I see it—­for us to plan.  Our plans’ll never be carried out, if they don’t please God.”

“And it was Frederick Massingbird?”

“It was Frederick Massingbird,” assented Robin, his breath coming thick and fast with agitation.  “We had got but one little ewe lamb, and he must leave the world that was open to him, and pick her up, and destroy her!  I ain’t calm yet to talk of it, sir.”