I shook my head. I could not reply.
“To accuse me,” she murmured; “me, me!” striking her breast with her clenched hand, “who loved the very ground he trod upon; who would have cast my own body between him and the deadly bullet if I had only known his danger. Oh!” she cried, “it is not a slander they utter, but a dagger which they thrust into my heart!”
Overcome by her misery, but determined not to show my compassion until more thoroughly convinced of her complete innocence, I replied, after a pause:
“This seems to strike you with great surprise, Miss Leavenworth; were you not then able to foresee what must follow your determined reticence upon certain points? Did you know so little of human nature as to imagine that, situated as you are, you could keep silence in regard to any matter connected with this crime, without arousing the antagonism of the crowd, to say nothing of the suspicions of the police?”
“But—but——”
I hurriedly waved my hand. “When you defied the coroner to find any suspicious paper in your possession; when”—I forced myself to speak—“you refused to tell Mr. Gryce how you came in possession of the key—”
She drew hastily back, a heavy pall seeming to fall over her with my words.
“Don’t,” she whispered, looking in terror about her. “Don’t! Sometimes I think the walls have ears, and that the very shadows listen.”
“Ah,” I returned; “then you hope to keep from the world what is known to the detectives?”
She did not answer.