“That you would have come to see me,” he finished.
Her face flushed, and her eyes glowed.
“No, that was not what I was going to say,” she retorted at once. “If I had thought you were guilty I should still have come; yes, if they had had to carry me here!”
He uttered a low cry, and held out his arms to her, then restrained himself and sank upon the pallet.
“Ah, yes!” he murmured. “I might have known! I might have known!”
“Yes,” she assented. “You might have known. You should have judged me by yourself. Would you not have come to me if I had been accused of a crime—yes, even if you had thought me guilty?”
He looked at her; it was sufficient answer.
The look seemed to sink into her heart, and for the first time her eyes faltered in their steady gaze.
“And now you will tell me who did this, will you not?”
He remained silent, shading his face with his thin and already wasted hand.