Between the common and the village there extended a fairly broad belt of trees which sprang from a deep-red soil, apparently¹ volcanic² in its origin. Through this wood there ran a narrow road in many a curve, purposely made tortuous³ so as to prolong the pleasure of walking under the shade of leafy boughs⁴ in the hot days of summer. From its formation this pathway--for it was little else--was called the Winding⁵ Lane, and at either end there was a stile shutting it in, so that no vehicles or horses could pass, but had to gain the common or village by the broad high road which skirted the town. Along the lane seats were placed for the convenience of passers-by, and in the long summer twilights the youths and maidens⁷ of Barnstead were accustomed to rest thereon and exchange love talk. Most of the marriages among the peasantry rose from meetings and promises in the Winding Lane.  
But as yet there had been no tragedy in this pleasant pathway, and it was with feelings of consternation⁸ that the villagers heard of the Lester murder. Henceforth tradition and imagination and winter tales would invest the spot with ghostly interest. Already the lovers of the village declared that nothing would induce them to seek the lane after twilight⁶, lest they should meet the spectre of the murdered girl. And this when the tragedy had been enacted⁹ only a few hours! Think, then, how such a statement would grow into an established belief when the circumstances of the death became sanctified by time!
 
Chaskin led his two companions through the wood, until he paused close beside the stile which barred the lane at that end from the common. Several rustics¹⁰ were examining the spot with eager interest; but on seeing squire¹¹ and vicar they made speed to leave the lane before their arrival, lest they should be reproved for morbid¹² curiosity. One heavy ploughman, however, was slow in going, and before he could hasten out of earshot, Herne called on him to wait. This the yokel¹³ did unwillingly¹⁵ enough, and looked rather afraid when the squire addressed him directly.
 
"Brent," said Herne, while his companions waited in wonder to know why he had stopped the man, "were you in the lane last night?"
 
"Ees, squire, I be," replied Brent, sheepishly.
 
"About what time?"
 
"Arter church, Squoire; between eight and nine."
 
"Were there many people in the lane?"
 
"Noa, Squoire; theer were a Methody meetin' at t'other end of Barnstead, and arter pass'n preached they all goas theer t' 'ear the caal for unconverted sinners."
 
"But you were in the lane?"
 
"Ees, Squoire; I wos wi' Jaane Bilway; but she made me taake her t' th' Methody Chapel¹⁶ alsoa."
 
"About what time did you leave this place?"
 
"Jest before nine."
 
"Did you see Miss Lester here?"
 
"Noa, sir."
 
"Did you see Mr. Lovel?"
 
"Noa, sir."
 
"Well--did you see anyone?" asked Herne impatiently.
 
"Noa, Squoire; I see noabody."
 
"Did you hear the shot fired?"
 
"Ees, I did, Squoire. I was passin' t' church wi' Jaane Bilway when I 'eard it. ''Uilol' ses I. 'there's some poachin' goin' on'; and I wanted to goa back and see; but Jaane she ses, 'Giles, you're a fule; 'tain't nothin',' soa I goes on wi' 'er to the Methody Chapel."
 
"About what time was the shot fired?" asked Paul, regardless of a frown from the squire.
 
"Just about nine, sir. T'clock was striking when I 'eard the shot."
 
"And you saw no one when in the lane?" said Herne, giving Brent a shilling.
 
"Noa, Squoire, not one soul, I sweer."
 
"Very good, Brent. You can go."
 
The man pulled a rough forelock and slouched off heavily. Herne looked after him with a frown, and afterwards turned towards the clergyman with a sharp look of interrogation. "Do you believe what that fellow says, Chaskin?" he demanded.
 
"Yes; I see no reason why he should lie."
 
"H'm! the reason might be found in his pocket."
 
"What do you mean, Herne?" asked Paul, sharply.
 
"Simply that Brent has been bribed¹⁷."
 
"By whom, man?"
 
"By Lovel. Don't contradict me," said Herne, in authoritative¹⁸ tones. "I am certain of what I say. Milly came to this lane last night, else she would not have been found dead by yonder stile. She must have come to meet someone; and going on what has been told to me, the person she came to meet could only have been Lovel. If they walked up the lane together, they must have been seen by Brent and Jane Bilway. Lovel would be unwilling¹⁴ that I should be told of these stolen meetings, therefore he bribed the man to hold his tongue."
 
"Herne," burst out Chaskin, who had restrained himself with difficulty during this speech, "do you know what you are saying? You are accusing Brent of a felony--that is," corrected the vicar, "assuming that your belief that Lovel killed the girl is true. If Brent saw Lovel here he must believe the same thing, and he would not hold his tongue knowing that murder had been done."
 
"That depends on the amount of the bribe," said Herne, grimly; "but I'll find that out later. I am certain that Lovel was here and killed Milly."
 
"Why not ask Lovel himself?" suggested Paul, looking up. "Here he comes across the common."
 
"Wants to see the scene of his crime, no doubt!" said the squire, fiercely.
 
"Herne, you are unjust!" protested Chaskin.
 
"Wait till I speak with Lovel, and then judge, my friend."
 
The Vicar silently agreed with this remark, and the three men watched Lovel as he walked slowly towards the site. On catching¹⁹ sight of the trio he hesitated, and half stopped; but almost immediately he resumed his usual pace, and came towards them. Jumping over the stile, he made as to pass them with a hurried nod; but the squire, with a grim smile, placed himself in his path. So pointed²⁰ was the movement that Lovel, much against his will, had no alternative but to stop. He looked pale and haggard, and was not dressed with usual care; otherwise he gave no sign of inward perturbation, but was calm and collected when he faced Herne.
 
"A word with you, Mr. Lovel," said Darcy, sharply.
 
"A dozen," replied Lovel, as sharply, "provided they are addressed to me in the terms one gentleman usually employs to another."
 
"Oh, I shall be as polite as you please," sneered²¹ the squire, with an ugly smile, "so long as you answer my questions."
 
"I shall answer your questions if I can, Mr. Herne."
 
"Very good, sir. Then tell me why you met Miss Lester in this lane, on this spot, last night."
 
Lovel turned a shade paler, and moistened his dry lips; but he faced his questioner unflinchingly and replied clearly, without hesitation²², "I did not meet Miss Lester last night," said he, deliberately²³.
 
"I have reason to believe the contrary," retorted Herne, at white heat.
 
"Give me your reason, and I will disprove it," was the reply of Lovel.
 
"A certain person wrote to me that you intended to meet Miss Lester."
 
"What is the name of your informant?"
 
"I decline to give it, Mr. Lovel."
 
"In that case," said Lucas, moving on, "I must decline to answer further questions."
 
"No!" cried He............