"August Bordine!"
He stood before her with outstretched hands and pleading eyes. It was hard for her to resist that look, yet she viewed him coldly, and refused to look in his face.
"Don't scorn me until you hear my plea, Rose," he said in a passionate outcry, that thrilled a chord in her heart.
"Oh, sir, why did you come? Are you not aware that you risk your life?"
"I would risk Heaven for you, my darling. I know how much I risk in coming here, but I must have this horrible unrest settled for all time. See, on my bended knees I swear to you, Rose, I am innocent of the murder of that poor girl. It is a great mistake all round, and I mean to give myself up and stand trial.
"I have been a coward without your love, Rose. You cannot imagine how your scorn has weakened me, and the whole affair has been one round of ghastly mistakes. I am here to-night to tell you the truth. You have constantly denied me audience, and so to-night I resolved to see you or die in the attempt. As an excuse I plead only my deep love, and my innocence, which I believe I shall be able to prove. I hear that you have been kind to my mother in prison, and to-day I learn that she was permitted to return to her lonely home through your interference in her behalf.
"For this I thank you, and if a life-time of devotion can repay you it shall be yours—"
"Cease, sir," Rose interrupted at the first opportunity. "I am willing to believe you innocent of that awful crime at Ridgewood, but there are other crimes as wicked as murder—"
"I know," he cried, rising and clasping his hands, while he bent a pleading, wistful look into her face. "You refer to that scene in the garden."
"I do," coldly.