“Nevertheless it is the only possible solution; and I know that several similar instances have been recorded.  It is like the negative of a common photograph, brought out by a dark background; and do you notice the figures are invisible at certain angles?  It is very evident the storm came up during the altercation that night, and electricity printed the whole scene on this door; stamping the countenance of the murderer, to help the instruments of justice.  While the blinds were closed, and the curtain was looped aside, of course this wonderful witness could not testify; but Prince let down the folds just before his departure, and the moment Bedney opened the blinds, there lay the truthful record of the awful crime.  Verily, the ‘irony of fate!’ An overwhelming witness for the defence, only eighteen months too late, to save a pure, beautiful life from degradation and ruin.  Well may Bedney ask, ’where is your corpus delicti?’ Alfred Churchill, I wish you joy of the verdict, you worked so hard to win.”

Turning on his heel Mr. Dunbar walked the length of the veranda, and stood gazing gloomily across the tangled mass of the neglected rose garden, taking no cognizance of the garlands of bloom, seeing everywhere only that lithe elegant figure and Hyperion face of the man who reigned master of Beryl’s heart.

The Solicitor leaned one shoulder against the door facing, and with his hands in his pockets, and his brows drawn into a pucker, pondered the new fact, and eyed the strange witness.

After a time, he approached his companion.

“If your hypothesis be correct, and it seems plausible, if science asserts that electricity can photograph,—­then certainly I am sorry, sorry enough for all I did in the trial; yet I cannot reproach myself, because I worked conscientiously; and the evidence was conclusive against the girl.  The circumstantial coincidences were strong enough to have hung her.  We all make mistakes, and no doubt I am responsible for my share; but thank God! reparation can be made!  I will take the night train and see the Governor before noon to-morrow.  The pardon must come now.”

“Pardon!  He cannot pardon a crime of which she now stands acquitted.  The only pardon possible, she may extend to those who sacrificed her.  His Excellency need exercise no prerogative of mercy; his aid is superfluous.  Churchill, go in as soon as you can, and send out the Sheriff, with as many of the jurors as you can get together; and ask Judge Parkman to drive out this afternoon, and bring Stafford, the photographer, with him.  Tell Doctor Graham I want to see him here, as he is an accomplished electrician.  I will stay here and guard this door till all X—–­has seen it.”

Winged rumor flew through the length and breadth of the town, and before sunset a human stream poured along the road leading to “Elm Bluff”, overflowed the green lawn under the ancient poplars, surged across the terrace, and beat against the railing of the piazza.  Men, women, children, lawyers, doctors, newspaper reporters, all pressing forward for a glimpse of the mysterious and weird witness, that, in the fulness of time, had arisen to reprove the world for a grievous and cruel wrong.