, upright man."

Graumann paused a moment and pressed his hand to his heart again. His
voice had grown weaker, and he breathed hard. Finally he continued: "I
commanded my ward to break off her engagement, as I could not allow her
to marry a man who was a freed convict. Siders sold his property
some few weeks after that and moved to G--. Eleonora acquiesced in my
commands, but she was very unhappy and allowed me to see very little of
her. Then came the events of the evening of September 23rd, the events
which have turned out so terribly. I will try to tell you the story just
as it happened, so far as I am concerned. I had seen nothing of John
since he left this town. He had made several attempts before his
departure for G---- to change my opinion, and my decision as to his
marriage to my ward. But I let him see plainly that it was impossible
for him to enter our family with such a past behind him. He asserted
his innocence of the charges against him, and declared that he had been
unjustly accused and imprisoned. I am afraid that I was hard towards
him. I begin to understand now, as I never thought I should, what it
means to be accused of crime. I begin to realise that it is possible for
every evidence to point to a man who is absolutely innocent of the deed
in question. I begin to think now that John may have been right, that
possibly he also may have been accused and sentenced on circumstantial
evidence alone. I have thought much, and I have learned much in these
terrible days."

The prisoner paused again and sat brooding, his eyes looking out into
space. Muller respected his suffering and sat in equal silence, until
Graumann raised his eyes to his again. "Then came the evening of the
23rd of September?"

"Yes, that evening--it's all like a dream to me." Graumann began again.
"John wrote me a letter asking me to come to see him on that evening. I
tore up the letter and threw it away--or perhaps, yes, I remember now, I
did not wish Eleonora to see that he had written me. He asked me to come
to see him, as he had something to say to me, something of the greatest
importance for us both. He asked me not to mention to any one that I was
to see him, as it would be wiser no one should know that we were
still in communication with each other. There was a strain of nervous
excitement visible in his letter. I thought it better to go and see
him as he requested; I felt that I owed him some little reparation for
having denied hi