"Yes, I guess perhaps I ought to hear it. And if you tell me you don't need to tell Mr. Alden, because I know better than you what he ought to hear—that is, if it concerns me."
This seemed a simple and self-evident view of the case; Durgan hardly knew how he could have thought of interfering. Nor did he find it at all easy to put significance into the prisoner's words apart from his own foreknowledge and prejudgment of the case.
"'Dolphus suggested to me that I would not wish to see justice done in—to say the truth—in your own case, Miss Claxton. He challenged me, asking if I were willing to make a sacrifice to prove your innocence."
She looked at him straight. Her eyes were not faded now; he was amazed at the flash and flush of energy and youth he had brought to her face. He thought he had never in his life seen so honest, so spiritual a face as that which confronted him; but whether her present expression was one of astonishment or dismay he could not tell.
"You could not have expected him to speak on this subject; and you never had any connection with our trouble? What more did he say?"
"He never really mentioned your name; I only assumed that his reference was to you. He said that he knew a lady who would die to save a—well, he said, a gentleman she loved, but would let even him die rather than swear falsely."
She never flinched. "Was that all?" she asked.
But Durgan was already cut with remorse to think how impertinent his words must sound. "No, that was not all. He asked me to give you a message, to tell you that he would not harm you—that he would rather die than harm you. This was in answer to my suggestion that you would not wish your real name to be known in these parts."
She looked relieved. "I have always believed that he had more good in him than you thought. But tell me all. I'd liefer hear every word, if you please."
"I hope I remember all that he said. I think that was all that I took to be a direct reference to you, Miss Claxton; but what I thought most needful to tell Alden——"