“I did, father; I did. If I knew it could save my life, I could not say differently. I was not there.”
“And will prove it, too,” Tom said, his voice so full of courage and hope that Paul felt stronger himself and began to look about with some interest on what had been brought and what Tom was doing.
He had spread down the handsome Persian rug on the floor in front of the cot,—had put the fine linen damask towels on the washstand, with a tilt of his nose at the tin basin and pail, and a mental note of what he would bring in their place. He laid Paul’s dressing gown on the foot of the cot with another tilt of his nose at the patchwork quilt, and with another mental memorandum. He took out Paul’s comb and brushes and soap dish,—all silver-backed and looking on the old stand as much out of harmony as the rug on the floor.
“I brought you this,” he said, holding up the hand glass. “Everybody wants to see himself, if he is in prison. To-morrow I’ll bring a bigger one, with more things. We’ll have you in good shape while you stay here.”
He was very cheerful, and both the judge and Paul felt the magnetism of his cheerfulness. Clarice’s name had not been mentioned, nor that of any one except his mother, but she was in Paul’s mind, and when he could trust himself he asked: “Does Clarice know where I am and what they charge me with?”
“Yes, she knows. Everybody knows. The whole town is up in arms. She takes it hard,” Tom said.
“Does she believe it?” was Paul’s next question.
“No. Nobody believes it,” was Tom’s reply, and Paul continued: “Yes, they do. They believe I did it accidentally. Does Clarice think so?”
“Certainly not. She knows you didn’t,” Tom said, unhesitatingly, without in the least knowing what Clarice believed or didn’t believe.
He had been told that when the news reached her she had shrieked so loud that she was heard a block away, and had then gone into convulsions. He had heard, too, that Elithe had turned as white as marble when her aunt came with the intelligence of Paul’s arrest, and had not spoken since. He did not mean to mention her name to Paul, knowing that what she saw and heard was the pivot on which public opinion hung. But Paul spoke of her and said: “Elithe says she saw me. I wish she would come here and tell me why she thought it was I.”