“Well,” says the turnkey, “I won’t contradict you.  It’s all one now, whether he did it or not.”

“Some friend will rise up for us, mother,” cried Kit.  “I am sure.  If not now, before long.  My innocence will come out, mother, and I shall be brought back again, I feel confident of that.  You must teach little Jacob and the baby how all this was, for if they thought I had ever been dishonest, when they grew old enough to understand, it would break my heart to know it, if I was thousands of miles away.  Oh, is there no good gentleman here who will take care of her!”

In all Kit’s life that was the darkest moment, when he saw his mother led away, half fainting, and heard the grating of his cell door as he entered—­entangled in a network of false evidence and treachery from which there seemed no way of escape.

Meanwhile, however, while Kit was being found guilty, a young servant in the employ of the Brasses was also guilty of listening at keyholes, listening to a conversation which was not intended for her ears, in which she heard the entire plot by which Mr. Brass had entrapped and condemned Kit.  How he had himself placed the money in Kit’s hat while it lay upon the office table; and how the whole plan had been successful.  The small servant, friendly to Kit, and hating her employers, lost no time in repeating what she had heard to Mr. Garland, and he, the notary, and the strange gentleman, after carefully arranging their plan, confronted the Brasses with evidence of their guilt so overwhelmingly true, that they could do nothing but confess their crime, and Kit’s innocence, while Mr. Garland hastened to him with the glad news of his freedom.

Lighted rooms, bright fires, cheerful faces, the music of glad voices, words of love and welcome, warm hearts and tears of happiness—­what a change is this!  But it is to such delights that Kit is hastening.  They are awaiting him, he knows.  He fears he will die of joy before he gets among them.

When they are drawing near their journey’s end he begs they may go more slowly, and when the house appears in sight that they may stop,—­only for a minute or two, to give him time to breathe.

But there is no stopping then, for they are already at the garden gate.  Next minute they are at the door.  There is a noise of tongues and a tread of feet inside.  It opens.  Kit rushes in and finds his mother clinging round his neck.  And there is Mrs. Garland, neater and nicer than ever, fainting away stone dead with nobody to help her; and there is Mr. Abel violently blowing his nose and wanting to embrace everybody; and there is the strange gentleman hovering round them all, and there is that good, dear little Jacob sitting all alone by himself on the bottom stair, with his hands on his knees, like an old man, roaring fearfully without giving any trouble to anybody; and each and all of them are for the time clean out of their wits.

Well!  In the next room there are decanters of wine, and all that sort of thing set out as grand as if Kit and his friends were first-rate company; and there is little Jacob walking, as the popular phrase is, into a home-made plum cake at a most surprising rate, and keeping his eye on the figs and oranges which are to follow.