"And so far I have not made a single error. Therefore, you must admit that the young girl is guilty."
"Well, then, no!" eagerly replied Cornelius, looking the sergeant square in the face. "No! I will never believe her guilty, unless she says so herself! And God knows—she might declare that she is guilty, and yet I would protest that she is innocent!"
"But," objected the sergeant, "what proofs can you produce? I, at least, have proven the truth of my assertions."
"Ah! I know nothing, I can prove nothing," replied Cornelius, "and everything you have said, every proof you have produced, is not to be disputed—"
"Well, then?"
"But my conscience revolts against your assertions nevertheless, and something seems to cry out: 'No, no; her dear face, her despair, her agony, are not those of a guilty wretch, and I swear that she is innocent! I can't prove it—but still I am sure of it, and I will assert it in the face of the most damaging evidence!' Oh, do not listen to her accusers! They will lie away the future of a noble girl! Their logic is born of earthly evidence—mine comes direct from Heaven, and is therefore true!"
"Then—"
"Do not heed them," continued Cornelius, whose excitement was now tense; "and remember that when your pride is ready to dispute the existence of a God something within you cries out to affirm that He does exist! And now, since this voice proclaims the innocence of the girl, how could I suspect her?"
"If the police reasoned like that, criminals would have an easy time of it."
"Oh, I will not attempt to convince you," added Cornelius; "continue your work! Go on with your search for evidence, and pile your proofs one upon the other in your efforts to crush this unfortunate child. On the other hand, I will begin my search to discover the proofs of her innocence!"