Colina fell back against the door-frame with a hand to her breast.  “Did he—­did he see him?” she whispered.

“No,” said Giddings reluctantly.  “He did not see his assailant.  But said to accuse Strange of the deed was the act of a desperate criminal.”

“You’re under arrest!” Macfarlane said bruskly to Ambrose.  Turning to Colina, he added deprecatingly:  “You had better leave the room, Miss Gaviller.”

She shook her head.  Clearly speech was beyond her.  Not once during the scene had Ambrose been able to see her eyes, Macfarlane waited a moment for her to go, then shrugged deprecatingly.

“Will you submit to handcuffs or must I force you?” he demanded of Ambrose.

Ambrose did not hear him.  His eyes were fastened on Colina.  So long as he was tortured by a doubt of her he was oblivious to everything else.

The heart knows no logic.  It deals directly with the heart.  Love looks for loyalty as its due.  Ambrose was amazed and incredulous and sickened by his love’s apparent faint-heartedness.

“Colina!” he cried indignantly, “have you nothing to say?  Do you believe this lie?”

Her agonized eyes flew to his—­full of passionate gratitude to hear him defend himself.  His scorn both abased and overjoyed her.  Her heart knew.

None of the others recognized what was passing in those glances.

Macfarlane took a step forward.  “Here!  Leave Miss Gaviller out of this!” he said harshly.

Ambrose did not look at him, but his hand clenched ready to strike.  His eyes were fixed on Colina, demanding an answer.

Color came back to her cheeks and firmness to her voice.  “Stop!” she cried to Macfarlane in her old imperious way.  “I’m the mistress here.  My father is incapable of giving orders.  You’ve no right to judge this man.  None of us can choose.  There is no evidence.  I will not have either one handcuffed!”

Macfarlane fell back disconcerted.  “I was thinking of your father’s safety,” he muttered.

“I will watch over him myself,” she said.  She went swiftly up the stairs.

Ambrose sat by himself on a chair at the junction of the side passage with the stair hall.  Naturally, after what had passed, he avoided the other men—­and they him.

It was growing light.  He saw the panes of the side door gray and whiten.  Later he could make out the damaged front of the store across the square.

Macfarlane was again upon watch by the door.  Strange and Pringle were in the library.  Giddings was with Colina and the sick man up-stairs.

Ambrose watched the coming of day with grim eyes.  He had had plenty of time to consider his situation.  True, Colina had not failed him, but he did not minimize the dangers ahead.

He knew something of the uncertainty of men’s justice.  Out of the tumult of rage that had at first shattered him had been born a resolve to guard himself warily.