She had neither heeded nor heard me. "Let go of my hand," she repeated

faintly. That was her only answer. Her head sank on my shoulder; and her

hand unconsciously closed on mine, at the moment when she asked me to

release it.

I refrained from pressing the question. But there my forbearance

stopped. My chance of ever holding up my head again among honest men

depended on my chance of inducing her to make her disclosure complete.

The one hope left for me was the hope that she might have overlooked

something in the chain of evidence some mere trifle, perhaps, which

might nevertheless, under careful investigation, be made the means of

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vindicating my innocence in the end. I own I kept possession of her

hand. I own I spoke to her with all that I could summon back of the

sympathy and confidence of the bygone time.

"I want to ask you something," I said. "I want you to tell me everything

that happened, from the time when we wished each other good night, to

the time when you saw me take the Diamond."

She lifted her head from my shoulder, and made an effort to release her

hand. "Oh, why go back to it!" she said. "Why go back to it!"

"I will tell you why, Rachel. You are the victim, and I am the victim,

of some monstrous delusion which has worn the mask of truth. If we look

at what happened on the night of your birthday together, we may end in

understanding each other yet."

Her head dropped back on my shoulder. The tears gathered in her eyes,

and fell slowly over her cheeks. "Oh!" she said, "have I never had that

hope? Have I not tried to see it, as you are trying now?"

"You have tried by yourself," I answered. "You have not tried with me to

help you."

Those words seemed to awaken in her something of the hope which I felt

myself when I uttered them. She replied to my questions with more than

docility--she exerted her intelligence; she willingly opened her whole

mind to me.

"Let us begin," I said, "with what happened after we had wished each

other good night. Did you go to bed? or did you sit up?"

"I went to bed."

"Did you notice the time? Was it late?"

"Not very. About twelve o'clock, I think."

"Did you fall asleep?"

"No. I couldn't sleep that night."

"You were restless?"

"I was thinking of you."

The answer almost unmanned me. Something in the tone, even more than in

the words, went straight to my heart. It was only after pausing a little

first that I was able to go on.

"Had you any light in your room?" I asked.




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