It was at this moment that Dr. Hinman entered, a curious, repressed excitement in his face, and his eyes shining strangely.
"How is she, doctor?" Godfrey asked.
"She'll be all right in the morning. She is still pretty nervous, so I gave her a sleeping-draught and waited till it took effect."
Godfrey looked at him more closely.
"Did she tell you anything?" he asked.
"Not much," said Hinman; "I wouldn't let her talk. But she told me enough to let me guess one thing—she's the bravest girl I ever knew or heard of!"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," cried Hinman, his eyes glowing more and more, "that she stayed in this house and faced the deadliest peril out of love for that man Swain; I mean that, if he's cleared, as he's certain to be now, it will be she who clears him; I mean that, if the real murderer is brought to justice, it will be because of the evidence she stayed here to get, and did get!"
His voice had mounted shrilly, and his face was working as though he could scarcely keep back the tears.
"Wait a minute, doctor," broke in Godfrey. "Don't go too fast. What evidence?"