do this thing! How you must loathe me, Fenella! How you must loathe me!"
"But I don't, Frank," she assured him earnestly. "I don't loathe you in the least, you poor unhappy boy! Because—oh, listen, Frank—when you killed him, I knew from your expression that you were in a hypnotic trance, and, therefore, neither morally nor legally responsible for your actions!"
Frank wiped his brow; an immense load was lifted from his soul. "That accounts for it," he said slowly, "I felt sure I could not have committed such an act in an ordinary state without retaining some recollection of the circumstance. And yet," he added moodily, "if I am accused, who can prove that I did it in this unconscious state? Not you, Fenella; according to Mme. de Vigny, at least."
"Just so," said Lucille, speaking for the first time. "You are his wife, Lady Francis, and the law will not accept you as a witness. There is no one who can prove it, and therefore, the deduction I leave to you."
"Pardon me,*' said Jacynth, stepping calmly forward. "There is somebody—Lord Castleton. He has lately told me so. It appears, my dear Onslow, that he saw you subsequently, when you were suffering from a precisely similar attack. You stabbed madly, blindly, without being in the least aware of your actions."
