"You are Abel Hopper!"
"Just so. But I didn't expect to see you in these parts."
It was indeed Hopper, the ex-clerk at Liverpool. The coincidence was curious; had we time to follow it out—that the real Hopper should make his appearance just as the fears of Mr. Trace should have been set at rest as to the false one.
"You see the life that is mine; the disgrace that clings to me," panted George, in his impulsive emotion. "If you have a spark of manly feeling, you will speak out and clear my father's memory, even though at the cost of criminating yourself."
Hopper stared at George with a questioning gaze. "I don't know what you mean," he said. "You must talk plainer, young sir."
"Yes, you do know. You know—don't you—that my father was innocent?"
"I do know it. He was innocent."
"And that you were guilty."
"No; that I swear I was not."
The accent wore a sound of truth, and George paused. "Then who was guilty?"