“I wouldn’t disbelieve it—you may think me sentimental; I knew and loved her father—for any fortune you might name.”
“Say that you never knew her father; say that you had no more interest in the girl or the case, than the jurors have? What then—-?
“I should believe her for humanity’s sake; for the sake of the happiness it gives one to find something true and strong in this sordid work-a-day world—a jewel in a dust-heap. Oh, I’m a sentimentalist, I acknowledge.”
Mr. Fox turned to Sweetwater. “And you?”
“Mr. Fox, have you those tongs?”
“Yes, I forgot; they were brought to my office, with the other exhibits. I attached no importance to them, and you will probably find them just where I thrust them into the box marked ‘Cumb.’”
They were in the district attorney’s office, and Sweetwater at once rose and brought forward the tongs.
“There is my answer,” he said pointing significantly at one of the legs.
The district attorney turned pale, and motioned Sweetwater to carry them back. He sat silent for a moment, and then showed that he was a man.
“Miss Cumberland has my respect,” said he.