There was a sound of steps in the passage outside. A policeman opened the door, and Aldous Raeburn entered. His quick look ran over the two figures standing beside the table.
"I had some difficulty in finding a cab," he explained, "and we had to get some brandy; but she came round, and we got her off. I sent one of our men with her. The carriage is here."
He spoke—to Marcella—with some formality. He was very pale, but there was both authority and tension in his bearing.
"I have been consulting with Miss Boyce," said Wharton, with equal distance of manner, "as to the petition we are sending up to the Home Office."
Aldous made no reply.
"One word, Miss Boyce,"—Wharton quietly turned to her. "May I ask you to read the petition carefully, before you attempt to do anything with it? It lays stress on the only doubt that can reasonably be felt after the evidence, and after the judge's summing up. That particular doubt I hold to be entirely untouched by the trial; but it requires careful stating—the issues may easily be confused."
"Will you come?" said Aldous to Marcella. What she chose to think the forced patience of his tone exasperated her.
"I will do everything I can," she said in a low, distinct voice to
Wharton. "Good-bye."
She held out her hand. To both the moment was one of infinite meaning; to her, in her high spiritual excitement, a sacrament of pardon and gratitude—expressed once for all—by this touch—in Aldous Raeburn's presence.
The two men nodded to each other. Wharton was already busy, putting his papers together.