going out of her mind. But before he could find any word of
calming or consoling tendency, she flung down her hands and spoke again.
"I want you to fix your mind on it for a moment, even although it hurts
you," she said. "You are a strong man--you do not shrink from a thing
because, it is a little painful. Think what it would mean for yourself,
and not for yourself only; for your friends, for those who love you! A
perpetual disgrace--a misery!"

"You seem anxious to assume that I shall be convicted," he said, still
with displeasure.

"I tell you I am doing so on purpose. I want you to think of it. You
know--you know as well as I do--that the chances are against you!"

"And if they are?"

"If they are--why do you incur such a risk!"

"Mrs. Romaine," said Caspar, gently, but with a steady coldness of tone,
of which she did not at first feel the import, "I think you hardly know
the force of what you are saying. I do not incur any risk unnecessarily
or wantonly: I only wish the truth to be made known. What can I do
more--or less?"

"You could go away," she said, almost in a whisper.

If the room had been lighter, she might, perhaps, have seen the frown
that was gathering on his brow, the wrath that darkened his eyes as he
spoke: but his face was in shadow, and for a moment anger made him
speechless. She went on eagerly, breathlessly, without waiting for a
reply.

"You might get off quite easily to--to Spain, perhaps, or some place
where there was no extradition treaty. You are out on bail, I know; but
your friends could not complain. Surely it is a natural enough thing for
a man, situated as you are, to wish to escape: nobody would blame you in
the long run--they would only say that you were wise. And if you stay,
everything is against you. You had so much better take your present
chance!"

Caspar muttered something inarticulate, then seemed to choke back
further utterance, and kept silence for a minute. When he spoke it was
in a curiously tranquil tone.

"You do not seem to have heard of the quality that men call their
honor?"

"Oh, honor! I have heard enough about honor," she answered with
a nervous, rasping laugh. "And you--_you_ to talk about
honor--after--after _what you have done_!"

Caspar Brooke fell back a step or two and surveyed her curiously. "Good
God!" The exclamation broke from him, as if against his will. "You speak
as though you thought I was guilty--as though I had--_murdered_ Oliver!"