opened up a new page on
which her name, written in letters of gold, demanded clean work in the
future and a record which should not shame the aura surrounding that pure
name. Sorrow for the past, dread of the future--both were lost in the
glad rebound of my distracted soul. The night was dedicated to joy, and
to joy alone.

The next day being Sunday, I had ample time for the reaction bound to
follow hours of such exaltation. I had no wish for company. I even denied
myself to Clifton. The sight of a human face was more than I could bear
unless it were the one face; and that I could not hope for. But the
desire to see her, to hear from her--if only to learn how she had endured
the bitter ordeal of the day before--soon became unbearable. I must know
this much at any cost to her feelings or to mine.

After many a struggle with myself, I called up Dr. Carpenter on the
telephone. From him I learned that she was physically prostrated, but
still clear in mind and satisfied of her brother's innocence. This latter
statement might mean anything; but imparted by him to me, it seemed to be
capable of but one interpretation. I must be prepared for whatever
distrust of myself this confidence carried with it.

This was intolerable. I had to speak; I had to inquire if she had yet
heard the real reason why I was the first to be arrested.

A decided "No," cut short that agony. I could breathe again and proffer a
humble request.

"Doctor, I cannot approach her; I cannot even write,--it would seem too
presumptuous. But tell her, as you find the opportunity, how I honour
her. Do not let her remain under the impression that I am not capable of
truly feeling what she has borne and must still bear."

"I will do what I can," was his reply, and he mercifully cut short the
conversation.

This was the event of the morning.

In the afternoon I sat in my window thinking. My powers of reasoning had
returned, and the insoluble problem of Adelaide's murder occupied my
whole mind. With Carmel innocent, who was there left to suspect? Not
Arthur. His fingers were as guiltless as my own of those marks on her
throat. Of this I was convinced, difficult as it made my future. My mind
refused to see guilt in a man who could meet my eye with just the look he
gave me on leaving the courtroom, at the conclusion of his sister's
triumphant examination. It was a momentary glance, but I read it, I am
sure, quite truthfully.

"You are the man," it said; but n