e were a chance
of my coming to care for you in that way we could wait, but it would be
deceiving you to give hope."

"Is it because you care for--Mortimer?" he asked.

"I think it is. I suppose if I am to help him I must be quite honest
with you. I do not want to talk about it--it seems too sacred. I have
even spoken less to Mr. Mortimer of love," she added, with a painful
attempt at a smile. "You have said that you care for me, Mr. Crane, and
I believe you; you have been generous to my father, also. Now won't you
promise me something, just for the sake of this regard? I suppose it
is impossible to prove Mr. Mortimer's innocence"--she felt her own
helplessness, and who else could or would care to accomplish it "but it
is in your power to lessen the evil. Won't you take my word that he
is innocent and stop everything? As you say, either he or Alan must be
suspected, and if it were brought home to my brother it would crush me,
and my mother and father."

"What can I do?--"

"Just nothing. I know Mr. Mortimer has determined to accept the
disgrace, and he will go away. You can make his load as light as
possible, for my sake."

The small hand on his arm was drawing him to acquiesence. He did not
answer at once, but sat moodily diagnosing his position. If he refused
and prosecuted Mortimer, the girl, more determined than many men, would
change from a state of possibility, from simply not loving him, to a
vigorous hate. If he hushed the matter up Mortimer would go away under a
cloud, and his removal from the presence of Allis might effect a change
in her regard. He would accelerate this wished-for elision of love by
procuring absolutely indisputable proof of Mortimer's dishonesty. He saw
his opening to that end; he could do it under the guise of clearing the
innocent one of the suspected two; for Allis alone this would be. To
him there was not the slightest ground for supposing Alan had taken the
money, but blinded by her love, evidently Allis thought Mortimer was
shielding her brother. Though it was to Crane's best interests, he
pretended to consent out of pure chivalry. "What you ask," he said, "is
very little; I would do a thousand times more for you. There is nothing
you could ask of me that would not give me more pleasure than anything
else in my barren life. But I could not bear to see you wedded to
Mortimer; he is not worthy--you are too good for him. I don't say this
because he is more fortunate, but I love you