She cast a piteous glance at Faradeane, who had risen and stood looking at her in a silent agony of sympathy. He had risked his life, would lose it in all probability, to save her husband from the hangman’s hands, the convict’s shame, and yet she had come to this!
“You have?” said Mr. Edgar. “Tell me, please. I must, unfortunately, press for an answer.”
“I have!” she replied, almost voicelessly.
“What was it? Have you the letter here?”
She uttered a piteous little cry, and drew Bartley Bradstone’s letter from her pocket.
Mr. Edgar took it calmly, though his heart beat. He read it, and his face fell slightly, master of it though he was.
Mr. Sewell was on his legs in a moment.
“I must see that letter,” he said, firmly.
“It is——” began Mr. Edgar, but the solemn voice of the judge broke in:
“You must put in the letter, Mr. Edgar; the prosecution, the jury, all of us must see it, please.”