Jernyngham broke into a harsh laugh.
“The part of an innocent man is too much for you to play; we won’t force you into it. It will be a favor if you will have our baggage sent across here; needless to say, neither my daughter nor I can re-enter your house.” Then his self-control deserted him and he broke out in hot fury: “I firmly believe you are the man who killed my son, and you shall not escape!”
“I think,” said Colston quietly, “that is going too far.”
Making no answer, Prescott left them; and he was harnessing his horse outside when, somewhat to his astonishment, Muriel came toward him. A half-moon hung low above the bluff and the silvery light shone into her face, showing her warmth of color and the sparkle in her eyes. He thought she looked wonderfully attractive and his heart throbbed faster, but he knew he must hold himself in hand.
“Hadn’t you better go back?” he asked. “You have heard what your friends think of me.”
“What does that matter?” she exclaimed with feeling. “I’m very angry with them. I can’t let you go without saying that I know you could not have done what you have been wickedly accused of.”
“I’m glad. Thank you. It’s a big relief to feel that you believe in me. So long as I have that assurance nothing else counts.”
“Harry Colston’s not convinced; I believe he’s trying to keep an open mind.”
“Is that so?” said Prescott. “I don’t expect much from him. He’s the kind of man who’s guided by appearances and seldom does anything out of the common.”
Muriel disregarded this.