“No, no,” she said piteously, “everything is contained in one thought to me. They have taken my poor husband and treated him as if a thief.”
“Listen, my child,” continued Sir Gordon, “I found that the valuable documents of scores of the customers of an old bank had been taken away. They were in your husband’s charge.”
“Yes, but he says it can all be explained.”
Sir Gordon paused, tightening his lips, and a few indignant words trembled on the balance, but he spared the suffering woman’s bleeding heart, and continued gravely:
“I was bound in honour to consult with my partner at once, and the result you know.”
“Yes; he was arrested. You, you, Sir Gordon, gave the order.”
“Yes,” he said gravely; “had I not, he would have been beaten and trampled to death by the maddened crowd. Millicent Hallam, be just in your anger. I saved his life.”
“Better death than dishonour,” she cried passionately.
“Amen!” he responded; and in imagination he saw before him the convict’s cell, and went on picturing a horror from which he turned shuddering away.
“Come,” he said, “be sure of justice, my child. And now what can I do to help you? Money you must want.”