“I’ve spent a wretched night,” he said; “wretched. I suppose you’ve heard the news?” he asked, suddenly.
The squire shook his head.
“They’ve held the inquest and brought in a verdict of willful murder against Faradeane.”
The squire sprang to his feet, then dropped down again.
“They must be mad!” he exclaimed, tremulously.
“I don’t know anything more than I’ve heard,” said Bartley Bradstone. “My man was there and—and told me what passed. They had Faradeane up, and he—he just behaved as he did here. Wouldn’t say anything, or give any explanation. What were they to do, under the circumstances?”
The squire let his hand fall upon the table.
“I would stake my life upon his innocence!” he said, solemnly.
Bartley Bradstone eyed him with sullen displeasure.
“That wouldn’t save him,” he said. “Things look black against him.”