"Oh, but I can, Claire," and I bent over her, my hand fondling her hair. "I was there in the hall below, ready even then to act in your defence. I heard all that was said, saw all that was done."
"You—you were there?" sobbing out the words. "You saw me kill him?"
"Yes, and had you delayed another instant I should have done it."
"Then—then," she glanced up, tears dimming her eyes, "you do not blame me? You do not think me a wicked wretch?"
"I think you a brave, noble woman," I burst forth. "How could I feel otherwise? Look up, little girl; I want to see your face. No, don't shrink back from me. There is no cause. I know the whole story without your speaking a word. You asked me to come back to help you, and I came."
"Yes," she whispered, "I know. You have been so good."
"Good! I loved you, dear. From the moment I lifted you out of the way of that mob in Philadelphia, I have loved you. I did not understand much that occurred, but I have never doubted you. Now I realize the cause of your masquerade and know you were justified. I can bring you good news—Eric is not a traitor, but was a prisoner, captured by Fagin, and held at Grant's request. We found him bound and under guard out yonder, as we approached the house."
"And he is here now?"
"Yes; he was hurt in the fight, and is still unconscious, but will live."
"His reputation—"