e, whilst his keen eyes
riveted her attention, "I can prove my innocence of the crime you
charge me with. Listen to me patiently, and I will tell you how. Do
not let your anger drive you to any rash act which might bring
you--lifelong regret."

The girl made a sharp ejaculation. But she did not attempt to
interrupt him.

"I can prove that I was not within three hundred miles of this place
on the day of Leslie's death," the man went on. "That I was in a city
to the west of here distributing"--bitterly--"my wares. I can prove
all this--to you. And I intend that before you leave me to-day you
shall be a witness to my innocence, even against all prejudice. But
before judge and jury it will be different--very different." He
sighed. "There I cannot prove my innocence, for to do so would be to
betray my comrades--those who have traded with me and trusted me--and
send them to the penal servitude which also awaits me." His eyes had
become reflective. He seemed to be talking to himself now rather than
to the woman before him. "No, I cannot save myself at such a cost.
Even to escape the gallows I will not play the part of Judas."

The woman made no reply. She stood staring at him with all that was
best in her shining in her eyes. She was trying to follow his every
word and to take his meaning, and the one thought which dominated her
whole mind was his expressed ability to prove his innocence to her.

He seemed to awake from some melancholy reverie, and again his eyes
sought hers.

"Do you wish me to prove my innocence?"

"Yes; you must--you shall!"

The girl moved from the table; and, for the first time during the
interview, her hand was removed from the pocket in her skirt. Hope
filled the heart in which but now the fires of hell had seemed to
burn. She drank in his words with a soul-consuming thirst The proof!
That was what she required.

Iredale went on with grave gentleness.

"The proof is in here." He moved to the bookcase and opened a secret
recess in the back of it, "In this cupboard."

He produced a pile of books and brought them to the table. Picking out
one he opened it at the date of Grey's death. It was a diary. He read
out the entries for the entire week, all of which bore out his
testimony. Every one was dated at a different town or village, and
related to his sales of opium. He then opened another book and showed
the entries of his sales and the figures. He went through the whole
pile, book after book,