“I was shocked and distressed beyond expression, for I could no more connect the idea of crime with that beautiful, noble souled girl, than with my own sinless daughter; and I reproached myself then, and doubly condemn myself now, that I did not lend her the money.  All that was possible to alleviate the suffering of that mother, I did most faithfully.  Under my personal superintendence she was made comfortable in the hospital; and I stood by her side when Doctor—­ operated on the aneurism; but her impaired constitution could not bear the strain, and she sank rapidly.  She was delirious, and never knew why her daughter was detained; because I withheld the note.  Just before the end came, her mind cleared, and she wrote a few lines which I sent to the prisoner.  From all that I know of Miss Brentano, I feel constrained to say, she impressed me as one of the purest, noblest and most admirable characters I have ever met.  She supported her mother and herself by her pencil, and a more refined, sensitive woman, a more tenderly devoted daughter I have yet to meet.”

“Does your acquaintance with the family suggest any third party, who would be interested in Gen’l Darrington’s will, or become a beneficiary by its destruction?”

“No.  They seemed very isolated people; those two women lived without any acquaintances, as far as I know, and apared proudly indifferent to the outside world.  I do not think they had any relatives, and the only name I heard Mrs. Brentano utter in her last illness was, ‘Ignace,—­Ignace.’  She often spoke of her’darling,’ and her ’good little girl’.”

“Did you see a gentleman who visited the prisoner?  Did you ever hear she had a lover?”

“I neither saw any gentleman, nor heard she had a lover.  In January, I received a letter from the prisoner enclosing an order on S—­& E—­, photographers of New York, for the amount due her, on a certain design for a Christmas card, which had received the Boston first prize of three hundred dollars.  With the permission of the Court, I should like to read it.  There is no objection?”

“Penitentiary cell, January 8th

“In the name of my dead, whom I shall soon join—­I desire to thank you, dear Doctor Grantlin, for your kind care of my darling; and especially for your delicate and tender regard for all that remains on earth of my precious mother.  The knowledge that she was treated with the reverence due to a lady, that she was buried—­not as a pauper, but sleeps her last sleep under the same marble roof that shelters your dear departed ones, is the one ray of comfort that can ever pierce the awful gloom that has settled like a pall over me.  I am to be tried soon for the black and horrible crime I never committed; and the evidence is so strong against me, the circumstances I cannot explain, are so accusing, the belief of my guilt is so general in this community, that I have no hope of acquittal; therefore I make my preparations