He looked away, and I saw his lips tighten and his hands clench.
“No!”
“Do you want me to tell her?”
He thought a moment.
“What’s the use of hiding it? She’s bound to know some day, and—she’ll be glad I’ve had this little flicker of—decency. Besides, she may have an idea. Mary’s got a good head on her. Poor kid!”
I told Ryerson that I would think the matter over and find some way to communicate with him later. Then I left him.
I telegraphed at once to Miss Ryerson, who hurried to Chicago, arriving the next morning, and we spent most of that day together, discussing the hard problem before us. The girl was wonderfully brave when I told her the truth about her brother. She said there were circumstances in his early life that lessened the heinousness of his wrong doing. And she rejoiced that he was going to make amends. She knew he was absolutely sincere.
I suggested that we go to General Wood, who was friendly to both of us, and tell him the whole truth, but Miss Ryerson would not hear to this. She would not place Randolph’s life in jeopardy by revealing the fact that he had been a German spy. Her brother must make good before he could hope to be trusted or forgiven.
“But he’s a prisoner; he can do nothing unless he has his liberty,” I objected.
“We will get him his liberty; we must get it, but not that way.”