“Oh, I know it very well—as well almost as you do. But this is not my chief object; there is another far more important one,” and I ran over the incidents relative to the attempt at poisoning. “Now,” I resumed, “tell me, if you will, your opinion on this matter.”
“That it was Jackson administered the poison, and certainly not the young woman,” she replied with vengeful promptness.
“My own conviction! This, then, is my proposition:—you are sharp-witted, and know this fellow’s ways, habits, and propensities thoroughly—I, too, have heard something of them—and it strikes me that you could suggest some plan, some device grounded on that knowledge, whereby the truth might come to light.”
The woman looked fixedly at me for some time without speaking. As I meant fairly and honestly by her I could bear her gaze without shrinking.
“Supposing I could assist you,” she at last said, “how would that help me?”
“It would help you greatly. You would no doubt be still convicted of the burglary, for the evidence is irresistible; but if in the meantime you should have been instrumental in saving the life of an innocent person, and of bringing a great criminal to justice, there cannot be a question that the Queen’s mercy would be extended to you, and the punishment be merely a nominal one.”
“If I were sure of that!” she murmured with a burning scrutiny in her eyes, which were still fixed upon my countenance—“if I were sure of that! But you are misleading me.”
“Believe me, I am not. I speak in perfect sincerity. Take time to consider the matter. I will look in again in about an hour; and pray, do not forget that it is your sole and last chance.”
I left her, and did not return till more than three hours had passed away. Sarah Purday was pacing the cell in a frenzy of inquietude.
“I thought you had forgotten me. Now,” she continued with rapid vehemence, “tell me, on your word and honor as a man, do you truly believe that if I can effectually assist you it will avail me with Her Majesty?”