Part 4 (1/2)

'But you must forgive me,' she said. 'Whether I am as wicked as you told me I was when we parted or not, you must tell me that you take me for what I am, that you expect no change in me.' She paused a moment, and then cried out with sudden vehemence: 'Oh, I have done you injustice! I didn't know how n.o.ble you could be! But it is too late; I cannot alter now.'

An angry throb convulsed the man during her first words. At the end he ground his teeth and clenched his hands together.

'Silence, Eleanor! If you speak to me like that again, I shall go.

There are to be no thanks, no praises. Never refer to the past. I know you and understand. If I cannot tear all hope out of my heart, what is that to you? I ask nothing, and will take nothing unless it is freely given.'

He ceased, and she looked at him with a mixture of grat.i.tude and fear.

Then he referred to her dreadful situation.

'I needn't tell you, Eleanor, that as your counsel you must confide in me fully. I have heard the story so far as it is public, and up to now I may tell you that, as a matter of law, you are in no real danger.'

Eleanor stared at him.

'In no danger? What do you mean? Is the murderer discovered?'

'No, and never may be. But neither is the body.'

'Why, what difference does that make?'

'Don't you know?' answered the barrister. 'I thought most people knew that till the body was discovered no one could be convicted of murder.'

A ray of hope shone out in the prisoner's face.

'Then do you mean that Miss Lewis may be alive still?' she asked quickly.

'No, no. n.o.body doubts that she is dead, nor that someone has killed her. But the point is this, that you cannot be legally tried and convicted. The body has disappeared.'

The heavy shade of despair settled down once more.

'What good is that?' she answered reproachfully. 'If they believe me guilty it makes it worse for me, because I can never be acquitted. I shall be suspected till I die. Oh, I would rather suffer death, I think.'

'Hush, hus.h.!.+' he exclaimed, shocked and agitated. 'Listen to me, and try to bear it as best you can. The evidence against you is simply overwhelming. Probably I am the only man in the world who believes in your innocence.'

'Except the murderer,' she interrupted.

'Except the murderer, of course. But what I want to say is this--as things stand now no jury that ever breathed would acquit you. Only a miracle can reveal the truth. But what I can do, and mean to do, for you is to save you on the ground I have told you of. You must expect nothing more.'

'George, it will kill me! Alone, hated, abhorred, what use would my life be to me when the whole world believed me guilty? No, I will pray for a miracle; but if not----' She stopped and panted in anguish of soul.

Her suffering was reflected on the man's face.

'Don't--don't talk like that!' he cried. 'Remember, there will be always one who trusts you, one who reveres you, loves you! I don't mean to ask anything. I would not speak to you like this if I could help it; but remember, if the worst comes to the worst, you have always one friend to turn to, one man who asks no higher joy than to pa.s.s his life with you, whether here or in some far-off country, and devote himself to soothing your distress.'

While he was unfolding these views a sudden misgiving entered Eleanor's mind. Rising up, she crossed the cell to where he sat, and, laying her hands on his shoulders, she gazed full into his eyes.

'George,' she uttered in solemn tones, 'I adjure you to tell me the truth. Do you really believe me innocent?'

'Before G.o.d, I do!' burst out his answer, as he looked her in the face.