I must answer you as I have answered at least one other. I killed
John Barkley. If you suspect some other person, your suspicion is
wrong."

"What a splendid liar!" she breathed softly. "Don't you believe in God?"

Kent winced. "In a large, embracing sense, yes," he said. "I believe in
Him, for instance, as revealed to our senses in all that living,
growing glory you see out there through the window Nature and I have
become pretty good pals, and you see I've sort of built up a mother
goddess to worship instead of a he-god. Sacrilege, maybe, but it's a
great comfort at times. But you didn't come to talk religion?"

The lovely head bent still nearer him. He felt an impelling desire to
put up his hand and touch her shining hair, as she laid her hand on his
forehead.

"I know who killed John Barkley," she insisted. "I know how and when
and why he was killed. Please tell me the truth. I want to know. Why
did you confess to a crime which you did not commit?"

Kent took time to light his cigar. The girl watched him closely, almost
eagerly.

"I may be mad," he said. "It is possible for any human being to be mad
and not know it. That's the funny part about insanity. But if I'm not
insane, I killed Barkley; if I didn't kill him, I must be insane, for
I'm very well convinced that I did. Either that, or you are insane. I
have my suspicions that you are. Would a sane person wear pumps with
heels like those up here?" He pointed accusingly to the floor.

For the first time the girl smiled, openly, frankly, gloriously. It was
as if her heart had leaped forth for an instant and had greeted him.
And then, like sunlight shadowed by cloud, the smile was gone. "You are
a brave man," she said. "You are splendid. I hate men. But I think if
you lived very long, I should love you. I will believe that you killed
Barkley. You compel me to believe it. You confessed, when you found you
were going to die, that an innocent man might be saved. Wasn't that it?"

Kent nodded weakly. "That's it. I hate to think of it that way, but I
guess it's true. I confessed because I knew I was going to die.
Otherwise I am quite sure that I should have let the other fellow take
my medicine for me. You must think I am a beast."

"All men are beasts," she agreed quickly. "But you are--a different
kind of beast. I like you. If there were a chance, I might fight for
you. I can fight." She held up her two small hands, half smiling at him
again.

"But not with