“There is no ignominy in being wrongfully accused,” I said—­a little guiltily, I must own, for Thorndyke’s words came back to me with all their force.  But regardless of this I went on:  “An acquittal will restore him to his position with an unstained character, and nothing but the recollection of a passing inconvenience to look back upon.”

She gave her eyes a final wipe, and resolutely put away her handkerchief.

“You have given me back my courage,” she said, “and chased away my terror.  I cannot tell you how I feel your goodness, nor have I any thank-offering to make, except the promise to be brave and patient henceforth, and trust in you entirely.”

She said this with such a grateful smile, and looked withal so sweet and womanly that I was seized with an overpowering impulse to take her in my arms.  Instead of this I said with conscious feebleness:  “I am more than thankful to have been able to give you any encouragement—­which you must remember comes from me second-hand, after all.  It is to Dr. Thorndyke that we all look for ultimate deliverance.”

“I know.  But it is you who came to comfort me in my trouble, so, you see, the honours are divided—­and not divided quite equally, I fear, for women are unreasoning creatures, as, no doubt, your experience has informed you.  I think I hear my aunt’s voice, so you had better escape before your retreat is cut off.  But before you go, you must tell me how and when I can see Reuben.  I want to see him at the earliest possible moment.  Poor fellow!  He must not be allowed to feel that his friends have forgotten him even for a single instant.”

“You can see him to-morrow, if you like,” I said; and, casting my good resolutions to the winds, I added:  “I shall be going to see him myself, and perhaps Dr. Thorndyke will go.”

“Would you let me call at the Temple and go with you?  Should I be much in the way?  It is rather an alarming thing to go to a prison alone.”

“It is not to be thought of,” I answered.  “If you will call at the Temple—­it is on the way—­we can drive to Holloway together.  I suppose you are resolved to go?  It will be rather unpleasant, as you are probably aware.”

“I am quite resolved.  What time shall I come to the Temple?”

“About two o’clock, if that will suit you.”

“Very well.  I will be punctual; and now you must go or you will be caught.”

She pushed me gently towards the door and, holding out her hand, said—­
 “I haven’t thanked you half enough and I never can.  Good-bye!”

She was gone, and I stood alone in the street, up which yellowish wreaths of fog were beginning to roll.  It had been quite clear and bright when I entered the house, but now the sky was settling down into a colourless grey, the light was failing and the houses dwindling into dim, unreal shapes that vanished at half their height.  Nevertheless I stepped out briskly and strode along at a good pace, as a young man is apt to do when his mind is in somewhat of a ferment.  In truth, I had a good deal to occupy my thoughts and, as will often happen both to young men and old, those matters that bore most directly upon my own life and prospects were the first to receive attention.