"My child...." he said gently.
"What does it matter," she sobbed, "if I haven't slept? How can I sleep—when you are ... here?"
"Listen, my dear," he said—"we must face this thing squarely. It's no use trying to shut our eyes to the truth, however unpleasant it may be. As the case stands at present, no jury in the world could acquit me. I have no reply to the charge, except to declare that I did not kill Christine Manderson—and that will not help me. The evidence is more than enough to satisfy any impartial, clear-thinking man or woman. It would satisfy me. That I know myself to be innocent will not assist me to establish my innocence. Thousands of things may happen in the meantime—but I must prepare to suffer the penalty for a crime that I did not commit."
"You shall not!" she cried passionately. "If there is justice in heaven or earth, you shall not!"
"I do not cling to life," he returned. "It has very little to give me, or to take away. Men may find me guilty—but I shall stand before God innocent. It will not be the first time I have stood before God."
A spark of his old fanaticism flashed into his eyes for a moment, then faded.
"I shall be ready," he said steadily, "for whatever He sends."
"Men shall not find you guilty," she declared. "There are three people working for you. The truth will be discovered."
"Your mysterious Frenchman?" he smiled. "What has he done?"
"I don't know," she confessed. "He tells me nothing—except to keep on promising that you will be saved. And that is enough for me."