A faint smile rose in her face. She eagerly assented to the interview, and in a couple of minutes the two were closeted together.
At first there was a brief, awkward silence. Then Prescott broke it by speaking in calm, precise words:
‘It is nearly five years since we met, Miss Owen, but I hope you have not quite forgotten me.’
‘No, indeed,’ she answered; ‘but you should have forgotten me. I know I ought to thank you for this visit, and for dealing so leniently with the case yesterday, but I cannot find the right words. It is all so strange—so terrible and so strange.’
Prescott was afraid to look at her, lest the tears should come into his eyes.
‘Don’t thank me, please. I wish I could forgive myself for taking that wretched brief at all. I can only say I did so for fear it might fall into the hands of some abler and bitterer prosecutor. The solicitors were your enemies.’
‘Yes; I refused their services. I have wondered since if I was wise. It was Mr. Tressamer who advised me.’
‘And why? Why did you trust yourself so entirely to that man? But I forgot. I believe you are or were engaged.’
Eleanor raised her eyes, and looked long and searchingly at her questioner. Suddenly she said: