"Tell me—tell me now, on your soul, Hetty;—were you—were you—"
"No! No! On my soul, no!"
"Look into my eyes!"
The girl's eyes did not falter. She met the dark, penetrating gaze of the other and, though dimmed by tears, her blue eyes were steadfast and resolute. Sara seemed to be searching the very soul of her, the soul that laid itself bare, denuded of every vestige of guile.
"I—I think I believe you," came slowly from the lips of the searcher. "You are looking the truth. I can see it. Hetty, Hetty, I—I don't understand myself. It is so—so overwhelming, so tremendous. It is so incredible. Am I really believing you? Is it possible that I have been wrong in—"
"Let me tell you everything," cried the girl, suddenly throwing her arms about her.
"Not now! Wait! Give me time to think. Go away now. I want to be alone." She arose and pushed the girl toward the door. Her eyes were fixed on her in a wondering, puzzled sort of way, and she was shaking her head as if trying to discredit the new emotion that had come to displace the one created ages ago.
Slowly Hetty Castleton retreated toward the door. With her hand on the knob, she paused.
"After what has happened, Sara, you must not expect me to stay with you any longer. I cannot. You may give me up to the law, but—"
Some one was tapping gently on the door.