"Perhaps," he said, looking at her steadily, "this is as good a time as any to assure you that the law has done me wrong."
He waited for her to say something; but as she stroked Micmac's head in silence, he continued.
"I never committed the crime of which they found me guilty."
He waited again for some intimation of her confidence.
"Their string of circumstantial evidence was plausible enough, I admit. The only weak point about it was that it wasn't true."
Even through the obscurity of his refuge he could feel the suspension of expression in her bearing, and could imagine it bringing a kind of eclipse over her eyes.
"He was very cruel to you—your uncle?—wasn't he?" she asked, at last.
"He was very cantankerous; but that wouldn't be a reason for shooting him in his sleep—whatever I may have said when in a rage."
"I should think it might be."
He started. If it were not for the necessity of making no noise he would have laughed.