"Impossible! Not a bit of it. I suppose you wondered why I brought that Scotchman here? Well he's one of the witnesses to a confession signed by a confederate of the real criminal. Vayne will be coming to-night bringing that confession with him. I told him that we would all adjourn to the library after dinner to hear him read it."
Fifteen years ago when her lover had declared his innocence, Lady Betty had not believed him; now, when he told her that he could prove himself guiltless, she knew intuitively that he spoke the truth.
"John, I—I'm very glad," she said, her face colourless and stricken.
He nodded and moved away. To him, also, the moment was poignant. Presently he became aware of her hand on his arm, and turning, saw her standing beside him with bowed head.
"John, what can I say? Words are so useless—now."
"You haven't asked me who did it?"
"What does that matter?" she asked, wondering at the passion in his face.
"For fifteen years," he went on as though he had not heard her, "I have known the truth and hated him. When, by chance, I met the man who made this confession, I determined to clear my name no matter how others might suffer in consequence."
He paused and then, with a contemptuous laugh, went on,
"Now, at the last moment—the moment of triumph—the traditions of this house are too strong for me. I can't do it."