"And do you think that Alan has sown what he is reaping? Do you believe that he stabbed his wife?"
"My dear, I must believe it. Everyone believes it."
"Alan!" said Lettice, half raising her hand, and gazing out through the open window, over the banks of the yellow-flowing Arno, with a look of ineffable trust and tenderness in her face, "Alan, did you try to kill the woman who has cursed and degraded you? Did you strike her once in return for her thousand malicious blows? Did you so much as wish her ill to gratify your anger and revenge? No!—there is one, at least, who does not believe you guilty of this crime!"
"Lettice, darling!"
"I hear no voice but that of Alan, calling to me from his prison cell." She sprang to her feet and stood as if listening to a far-off call.
"Lettice, for Heaven's sake, do not give way to delusions. Think of those who love you best, who will be in despair if ill should befall you."
"Yes, I will think of those who love me best! I must go to him. Dear Mrs. Hartley, I am not losing my senses, but the feeling is so strong upon me that I have no power to resist it. I must go to Alan."
"My child, consider! You cannot go to him. He is in prison."
"I will go and live at the gates until he comes out."
"You must not talk like this. I cannot let you go—you, a woman! What would the world think of you?"