“I think you should know just what that letter means to me.  It is brave and steadfast—­just as she is; no, you were right, I can’t decide—­I won’t!”

“I wouldn’t,” said the general.  There was a pause and then he added, “After all, it is not given to every woman to show just how deep her faith is in the man she loves.  It would be too bad if you could not know that!”

“The situation may become intolerable, General Herbert!  Suppose I am held for the murder—­suppose a long trial follows; think what she will suffer, the uncertainty, the awful doubt of the outcome, although she knows,—­she must know I am innocent.”

“Of course, of course!” cried the general hastily, for these were points he did not wish to discuss.

“It’s a serious matter when you consider the possibility of an indictment,” said North soberly enough.

“That’s true; yet we mustn’t count the cost now, or at any future time.  But I promised Elizabeth I’d come back at once.  What shall I say to her, North?”

“Tell her that her letter has changed the whole aspect of things for me.  You must try to make her feel the fresh hope she has given me,” John replied, extending his hand.

“Conklin!” called the general.  He took North’s hand.  “Good night; I’m infinitely sorry to leave you here, North, but I suppose it can’t be helped—­”

The sheriff entered the room while he was yet speaking.

“Finished your chat, General?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you, Conklin.  Good night.  Good night, North,” and Elizabeth’s father hurried from the room.

For a moment North stood silent, staring absently at the door that had just closed on the general’s burly figure.  He still held Elizabeth’s letter in his hand.  In fancy he was seeing her as she had bent above it, her face tender, compassionate; and then there rose the vision of that crowded room with its palpable atmosphere, its score of curious faces all turned toward him in eager expectation.  In the midst of these unworthy surroundings, her face, beautiful and high bred, eluded him; the likeness, even as he saw it, was lost, nor could he call it back.

Slowly but certainly that day’s experience was fixing itself unalterably in his memory.  He caught the pungent reek from the wood-stove, and mingling with it the odor of strong cheap tobacco filled his nostrils again; he was left with the very dregs of sordid shameful things.

The sheriff touched him on the arm.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE GAMBLER’S THEORY

Gilmore, leaving his apartment, paused to light a cigar, then sauntered down the steps and into the street.  As he did so he saw Marshall Langham come from the post-office, half a block distant, and hurry across the Square.  Gilmore strode after him.

“Oh, say, Marsh, I want to see you!” he called when he had sufficiently reduced the distance that separated him from his friend.