of what was low. If only the man could
be proved innocent of crime, then he might go to his sweet, innocent
wife, and clasping her in his arms, take her to his heart.

The idea seemed to haunt him--it seemed to have a fatal attraction for
him. He resolved to go to London at once and see if anything could be
done in the matter. How he prayed and longed and hoped! He passed
through well-nigh every stage of feeling--from the bright rapture of
hope to the lowest depths of despair. He went first to Scotland Yard,
and had a long interview with the detective who had given evidence
against Henry Dornham. The detective's idea was that he was emphatically
"a bad lot."

He smiled benignly when Lord Arleigh suggested that possibly the man was
innocent, remarking that it was very kind of the gentleman to think so;
for his own part he did not see a shadow of a chance of it.

"He was caught, you see, with her grace's jewels in his pocket, and gold
and silver plate ready packed by his side--that did not look much like
innocence."

"No, certainly not," Lord Arleigh admitted; "but then there have been
cases in which circumstances looked even worse against an innocent man."

"Yes"--the detective admitted it, seeing that for some reason or other
his lordship had a great desire to make the man out innocent.

"He will have a task," the detective told himself, grimly.

To the inquiry as to whether the man had been sent out of England the
answer was "No; he is at Chatham."

To Chatham Lord Arleigh resolved to go. For one in his position there
would not be much difficulty in obtaining an interview with the convict.
And before long[7] Lord Arleigh, one of the proudest men in England, and
Henry Dornham, poacher and thief, stood face to face.

Lord Arleigh's first feeling was one of great surprise--Henry Dornham
was so different from what he had expected to find him; he had not
thought that he would be fair like Madaline, but he was unprepared for
the dark, swarthy, gypsy-like type of the man before him.

The two looked steadily at each other; the poacher did not seem in the
least to stand in awe of his visitor. Lord Arleigh tried to read the
secret of the man's guilt or innocence in his face. Henry Dornham
returned the gaze fearlessly.

"What do you want with me?" he asked. "You are what we call a swell. I
know by the look of you. What do you want with me?"

The voice, like the face, was peculiar, not unpleasant--deep, rich, with
a