“You hope to prove your innocence?”
“Indeed I do.”
“I also hope so.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He took a volume from his pocket, and said kindly—
“Will you allow me to read to you a little from this book?”
She did not reply by words, but again nodded her head, and then heaved a profound sigh.
“Poor thing! She is in great trouble, evidently,” murmured the chaplain.
He then commenced reading. She listened intently, not to the words but to the voice, through the tones of which she hoped to read his heart. She was an adept in divining the disposition of a person by the tone of his voice. She found his was firm and melodious, but also firm and regular in its accent. She looked earnestly at his face through her long eyelashes—an art which is much studied by women, and which she had practised to perfection. In cunning she was almost a match for Charles Peace, and this our hero was very well aware of, for he had at all times been duly impressed with the powers of discernment. He knew her to be a remarkably clever woman, as false and unprincipled as she was clever. These were qualities which were duly estimated by the notorious burglar.
She continued her scrutiny of the prison chaplain, but could discover no symptoms of an amorous or voluptuous temperament in him. His complexion was clear, his forehead high, his eyes mild and open, while his chin was strongly marked and his mouth finely but firmly modelled.