ewes, who had all along had the most profound conviction of the
guilt of the accused man seized his opportunity, and stepping close up
to him, whispered in his ear:

"Mr. Maddison, I should like to save you if I can. There have been
cases--forgive me for suggesting it--in which, by knowing every
circumstance and trifling detail connected with a crime, we have been
able to build up a def----"

Bernard Maddison drew himself up with a sudden hauteur, and raised his
hand.

"Stop, Mr. Dewes!" he said firmly. "I do not blame you for assuming what
you do, but you are mistaken. I am not guilty. I do not ask you to
believe it. I only ask you to bring this painful interview to an end."

"We will go," said Mr. Thurwell, suddenly advancing from the other end
of the cell. "I am not your judge, Bernard Maddison, and it is not for
me to hold you guilty. God shall pass His own judgment upon you. There
is my hand. Dare you take it?"

For answer, Bernard Maddison stepped forward and clasped it in his own.
Once more he had moved from out of the darkness, and a soft stream of
sunshine fell upon his pallid face. White though it was, even to
ghastliness, it betrayed no sign of blanching or fear, and his dark
eyes, from their hollow depths, shone with a clear, steadfast light.
Once more its calm spirituality, the effortless force which seemed to
lurk in every line and feature of the pale wasted countenance, had its
effect upon Mr. Thurwell. He wrung the hand which it had cost him a
suppressed effort to take, and for the moment his doubts faded away.

"God help you, Maddison!" he said fervently. "Shall I tell her anything
from you?"

A faint smile parted his tremulous lips. At that moment he was beyond
earthly suffering. A sweet, strong power had filled his heart with
peace.

"Tell her not to grieve, and that I am innocent," he said softly.
"Farewell!"

CHAPTER XXXIX

MR. BENJAMIN LEVY IS BUSY

A woman stood on the little stone piazza of that Italian villa, with her
face raised in agony to the blue sky, and her thin white hands wrung
together with frantic nervous strength. Her whole attitude was full of
the hopeless abandonment of a great tearless grief; and slowly dawning
passion, long a stranger to her calm face, was creeping into her
features. On the ground, spurned beneath her feet, was a long
official-looking letter and envelope. A thunderbolt had flashed down
upon the sweet stillness of her serene life.

She was