"I mean it. He knows I am guilty of no crime, but he does know that I am looking for Louis Leblanc, and he has fooled me with lying letters to keep me out of the way and win you with his guile."
A serious look came into the eyes of Polly.
"You are looking for Louis Leblanc," she whispered.
"Yes; it is the first move in a plan to free Darrel, for I am sure that Leblanc committed the crime. I shall know soon after I meet him."
"How?"
"If he should have a certain mark on the back of his left hand and were to satisfy me in two other details, I'd give my life to one purpose,—that of making him confess. God help me! I cannot find the man. But I shall not give up; I shall go and see the Governor."
Turning her face away and looking out of the window, she felt for his hand. Then she pressed it fondly. That was the giving of all sacred things forever, and he knew it. He was the same Sidney Trove, but never until that day had she seen the full height of his noble manhood, ever holding above its own the happiness of them it loved. Suddenly her heart was full with thinking of the power and beauty of it.
"I do love you, Polly," said Trove, at length. "I've answered your queries,—all of them,—and now it's my turn. If we were at Robin's Inn, I should put my arms about you, and I should not let you go until—until you had promised to be my wife."
"And I should not promise for at least an hour," said she, smiling, as she turned, her dark eyes full of their new discovery. "Let us go home."
"I'm going to be imperative," said he, "and you must answer before
I will let you go—"