The story had been dramatically told, and it seemed to him that it might be the truth.
With all the heart he had he hoped it was, and there was something like eagerness in his voice as he put his next question.
"Where is the letter that the woman sent you?"
She colored.
"I—I destroyed it," she stammered.
"Destroyed it! Why? Wait a minute! The papers stated that the woman jumped from the window a few hours after the arrest of her husband, crazed by the death of her child. In a state of mind like that, how was it possible that the poor woman could have thought of writing to you? Besides, knowing that Mauprat was arrested for attempted murder, why should she have written you so late at night? And why would not the morning have done for your visit?"
"I—I did not—know how long he would be confined, nor did she."
"Evelyn, are you telling me the truth? It does not seem so. It will be useless for you to lie to me, for that woman's insanity was but a temporary aberration of the mind; and while she can never recover from the injuries of her fall, she is perfectly able to answer any questions that may be put to her."
The girl was silent from inability to speak.
She had not read the part of the paper that told of Liz Mauprat's condition, and her single chance lay in the fact of her death!