, twitching with
nervousness, "I don't want to get free by playing tricks on a court of
law. I know that fifteen or twenty years in prison would not leave me
much worth living for, but I will not degrade myself by evading justice
with delays and false affidavits. If you can do anything for me fairly
and squarely, I should like to have it done."

"Scruples, eh?" asked Mr. Conger in surprise.

"Yes, scruples," said Albert Charlton, leaning his head on his hands with
the air of one who has made a great exertion and has a feeling of
exhaustion.

"Scruples, Mr. Charlton, are well enough when one is about to break the
law. After one has been arrested, scruples are in the way."

"You have no right to presume that I have broken the law," said Charlton
with something of his old fire.

"Well, Mr. Charlton, it will do no good for you to quarrel with your
counsel. You have as good as confessed the crime yourself. I must insist
that you leave the case in my hands, or I must throw it up. Take time to
think about it. I'll send my partner over to get any suggestions from you
about witnesses. The most we can do is to prove previous good character.
That isn't worth anything where the evidence against the prisoner is so
conclusive--as in your case. But it makes a show of doing something." And
Mr. Conger was about leaving the cell when, as if a new thought had
occurred to him, he turned back and sat down again and said: "There _is_
one other course open to you. Perhaps it is the best, since you will not
follow my plan. You can plead guilty, and trust to the clemency of the
President. I think strong political influences could be brought to bear
at Washington in favor of your pardon?"

Charlton shook his head, and the lawyer left him "to think the matter
over," as he said. Then ensued the season of temptation. Why should he
stand on a scruple? Why not get free? Here was a conscienceless attorney,
ready to make any number of affidavits in regard to the absence of
important witnesses; ready to fight the law by every technicality of the
law. His imprisonment had already taught him how dear liberty was, and,
within half an hour after Conger left him, a great change came over him.
Why should he go to prison? What justice was there in his going to
prison? Here he was, taking a long sentence to the penitentiary, while
such men as Westcott and Conger were out. There could be no equity in
such an arrangement. Whenever a man begins to seek equal