deeply, but, Heaven knows, unintentionally. I--I--I--"

Mr. Hand sank all in a heap where he sat, and could say no more.

Helen's flesh crawled at this confession, and at the sight of this
reptile who owned that he had destroyed Robert Penfold in fear and
cowardice. For a long time her wrath so overpowered all sense of pity
that she sat trembling; and, if eyes could kill, Mr. Hand would not have
outlived his confession.

At last she contrived to speak. She turned her head away not to see the
wretch and said, sternly:

"Are you prepared to make this statement on paper, if called on?"

Mr. Hand hesitated, but said, "Yes."

"Then write down that Robert Penfold was innocent, and you are ready to
prove it whenever you may be called upon."

"Write that down?" said Hand.

"Unless your penitence is feigned, you will."

"Sooner than that should be added to my crime I will avow all." He wrote
the few lines she required.

"Now your address, that I may know where to find you at a moment's
notice." He wrote, "J. Hand, 11 Warwick Street, Pimlico."

Helen then dismissed him, and wept bitterly. In that condition she was
found by Arthur Wardlaw, who comforted her, and, on hearing her report of
Hand's confession, burst out into triumph, and reminded her he had always
said Robert Penfold was innocent. "My father," said he, "must yield to
this evidence, and we will lay it before the Secretary of State and get
his pardon."

"His pardon! when he is innocent!"

"Oh, that is the form--the only form. The rest must be done by the warm
reception of his friends. I, for one, who all these years have maintained
his innocence, will be the first to welcome him to my house an honored
guest. What am I saying? Can I? dare I? ought I? when my wife-- Ah! I am
more to be pitied than my poor friend is; my friend, my rival. Well, I
leave it to you whether he can come into your husband's house."

"Never."

"But, at least, I can send the _Springbok_ out, and bring him home; and
that I will do without one day's delay."

"Oh, Arthur!" cried Helen, "you set me an example of unselfishness."

"I do what I can," said Arthur. "I am no saint. I hope for a reward."

Helen sighed. "What shall I do?"

"Have pity on _me!_ your faithful lover, and to whom your faith was
plighted before ever you saw or knew my unhappy friend. What can I do or
suffer more than I have done and suffered for you? My sweet Helen, have
pity on me, and be my wife."

"I wil