surmised one thing and some another; but it was observed, and taken as the obvious sign of a guilty conscience, that he would go for miles round rather than pass the windows of Leigh Hall, and that he gave up attending morning service upon Sundays where he might have met the young lady.  There was an advertisement also in the Lancet as to the sale of a practice which mentioned no names, but which was thought by some to refer to Bishop’s Crossing, and to mean that Dr. Lana was thinking of abandoning the scene of his success.  Such was the position of affairs when, upon the evening of Monday, June 21st, there came a fresh development which changed what had been a mere village scandal into a tragedy which arrested the attention of the whole nation.  Some detail is necessary to cause the facts of that evening to present their full significance.

The sole occupants of the doctor’s house were his housekeeper, an elderly and most respectable woman, named Martha Woods, and a young servant—­Mary Pilling.  The coachman and the surgery-boy slept out.  It was the custom of the doctor to sit at night in his study, which was next the surgery in the wing of the house which was farthest from the servants’ quarters.  This side of the house had a door of its own for the convenience of patients, so that it was possible for the doctor to admit and receive a visitor there without the knowledge of anyone.  As a matter of fact, when patients came late it was quite usual for him to let them in and out by the surgery entrance, for the maid and the housekeeper were in the habit of retiring early.

On this particular night Martha Woods went into the doctor’s study at half-past nine, and found him writing at his desk.  She bade him good night, sent the maid to bed, and then occupied herself until a quarter to eleven in household matters.  It was striking eleven upon the hall clock when she went to her own room.  She had been there about a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes when she heard a cry or call, which appeared to come from within the house.  She waited some time, but it was not repeated.  Much alarmed, for the sound was loud and urgent, she put on a dressing-gown, and ran at the top of her speed to the doctor’s study.

“Who’s there?” cried a voice, as she tapped at the door.

“I am here, sir—­Mrs. Woods.”

“I beg that you will leave me in peace.  Go back to your room this instant!” cried the voice, which was, to the best of her belief, that of her master.  The tone was so harsh and so unlike her master’s usual manner, that she was surprised and hurt.

“I thought I heard you calling, sir,” she explained, but no answer was given to her.  Mrs. Woods looked at the clock as she returned to her room, and it was then half-past eleven.