“Sirs,” concluded the gentleman who now occupied the floor, “while I do not find full confirmation herein of all the statements this lady has made to us, I do discover this document to be not without interest.  At its close, I find in a different handwriting—­Madam, may I guess it to be your own?—­the addendum—­let me see,—­Ah, yes, it says merely two words:  ‘The darling!’”

He approached, and laid just the lightest, gentlest hand upon the shoulder of the disturbed woman, who sat speechless, her face suffused.  “Your documents are regular, Madam,” he said kindly.  “As for this other, which perhaps was the one you intended me to read, that is private matter.  It is not necessary even for myself to read it.  There will be no further exhibits in this case.  I am sure that I voice the feeling of every gentleman present here however, Madam, if I say that although we have not curiosity as to the terms of this communication, we have deep regret over its advices to you.  If your fortunes have been ruined, they have been ruined in a cause in which a kind heart and an active brain were deeply enlisted.  You have our regrets.”

“Sir!” He turned now toward the tall gentleman who sat silent at the head of the table.  “I am sure there is no further need for this lady’s attendance here.  For my own part, I thank her.  She has offered us no remedy, I fear.  In turn, there seems none we can extend to her.”

“Wait a moment!” interrupted a voice from the opposite side of the table.

The leader shifted in his seat as he turned toward Josephine St. Auban.  “This is the gentleman from Kentucky,” he said.  “We usually find his words of interest.  Tarry, then, for just a moment longer.”

A tall figure was visible in the half light, as the clear voice of the gentleman so described went on.

“Sir, and gentlemen, there is no Kentuckian,—­no, nor any man from any other state here present—­who could suffer this matter to conclude just as it is now.  This is not all.  This matter but begins.  We have invited to attend us a lady whose activities we considered dangerous,—­that is the plain truth of it, and we all know it, and she may know it.  Instead of that, we find here with us now a woman in distress.  Which of us would have the courage to endure with equal equanimity that which she faces now?  It has already been said here that we have been not unmindful of the plans of this lady, not wholly unacquainted with her history.  We know that although a revolutionist at heart, an alien on our shores, her purposes have been clean, have been noble.  Would to God we had more such in our own country!  But now, in a plan which has proved wholly futile before her time, which would prove futile after it, even though backed by the wealth of a nation,—­she has failed, not to our ruin, but to her own.

“It is not without my knowledge that this lady at one time, according to popular report, was asked to undertake a journey which later resulted, in considerable personal inconvenience, not to say indignity, to herself.  Is there no way, gentlemen, in which, especially in consideration of her present material circumstances, this government—­I mean to say this country—­can make some amends for that?”