Sir Francis rose from his chair and in a voice that echoed through the room, he cried,—
“Young man, on your soul is this all true?”
“On my soul,” said Albert.
“As you hope for Heaven’s mercy?”
Albert stretched out his arm as he said solemnly, “May the curse of God be upon me evermore if what I say be not the truth. I am innocent—I am innocent.”
Sir Francis sunk into his seat again, and drew a long breath before he said,—
“You shall have justice. Be assured you shall have justice—go on, I pray you.”
“I have little more to add, save that I obtained a light of a female in the house, and that still calling upon Ada, I ascended to the room where lay awfully mangled the ghastly remains of Jacob Gray. Upon my descent, your officers seized me, and accused me of the murder.”
“And that cloak?”
“Is not mine.”