And when he had finished something of the trouble had passed out of the girl’s eyes. The color had returned to her cheeks, and he knew that he had achieved his purpose.
“I suppose it is terrible to you, child, to hear me speak of your aunt, one of your own sex, a blood relative, in this way,” he said in conclusion. “But I believe that she is absolutely mad in her hatred of me. And now that she has discovered my whereabouts nothing less will satisfy her than that I must stand my trial, and—go to the electric chair. It is my purpose to stand my trial. It was for that reason, when I recognized her this morning, before she even saw me, I purposely thrust myself in her way. I intended that she should not lack opportunity, and my reason—well, that doesn’t much matter.”
The girl nodded.
“I think I am glad of your decision,” she said simply. “You see, when you have established your innocence——”
“I fear that result is—doubtful.”
The man’s admission was quite frank. Nor was there even a suggestion of regret in his voice. But Joan’s heart gripped with alarm. The thought of such a contingency had never occurred to her simple mind. He had not committed murder. Then, of course, he was innocent. It had all been made so simple. Now—now she was suddenly overwhelmed with a new terror.
“You mean—you cannot prove—your innocence?” she cried incredulously.
“You forget I was the only man with him. I was the last person with him. And—I fled when I should have stayed to—help. The circumstances are terribly against me.”
Joan’s throat had suddenly parched. She struggled to speak, but no sound came. She looked to Buck for help and the man ran to her side.
The gentle pressure of his protecting arm, as he rested one caressing hand upon her shoulder, gave her the relief she needed.