Could I tell her the truth now? Could I undeceive her and say I have done as much and perhaps more to condemn him than any one--that I should have to bear witness against him? Could I tell her this, with her eyes looking into mine in such unutterable anguish, with her little hand placed in mine so confidingly, and with the thought of him before me? I could not. I said all should be done for him that was in the power of mortal man to do, and I promised to send messengers constantly to keep her fully informed during the day of all that passed; Before going I asked her if I should tell her mother; but she refused--she would rather do it herself.
"Tell him," were her last words, "that my heart is with him, and my love--oh I my dearest love!"
"Write it, Ada," I said, "it is better he should have that message direct from you."
So I left her, bearing her little note to him, poor fellow. How precious it would be, that tiny missive, coming from her loving hand and faithful heart.
It was just upon one o'clock when I arrived at my chambers, and at two Atherton was to be taken before the magistrate. There was no fresh news; so I decided upon going at once to Merrivale's office, and seeing him if possible before he went to the police-court. I met him on the stairs returning to his office.
"I have just been with poor Atherton," he said; and he looked very grave. "Come in here; I was going to send for you. By the bye, have you been to the Leslies? he is most anxious about that. I don't think he'll be calm enough to think for himself until he knows all is right in that quarter."
"I have a note from Miss Leslie for him,"
"All right. Give it to me; I'll enclose it, and send it at once."
Merrivale despatched the messenger, and then locked his room door. "The case is dead against him," he said as he sat down, "and he knows it now, poor fellow,--he knows it."
"He is innocent," I said; "I could swear he is innocent!"