in it,
turned away to the glass, where she quietly smoothed her hair and
adjusted the lace at her throat, and then catching sight of the
tear-stained face of Helen, stooped and gave her a kiss, after which she
moved mechanically to the door and went down those broad flights, one
after one, till she came to the parlor, when she went in and
encountered--Mr. Orcutt.

A glance at his face told her all she wanted to know.

"Ah!" she gasped, "it is then----"

"Mansell!"

It was five minutes later. Imogene leaned against the window where she
had withdrawn herself at the utterance of that one word. Mr. Orcutt
stood a couple of paces behind her.

"Imogene," said he, "there is a question I would like to have you
answer."

The feverish agitation expressed in his tone made her look around.

"Put it," she mechanically replied.

But he did not find it easy to do this, while her eyes rested upon him
in such despair. He felt, however, that the doubt in his mind must be
satisfied at all hazards; so choking down an emotion that was almost as
boundless as her own, he ventured to ask:

"Is it among the possibilities that you could ever again contemplate
giving yourself in marriage to Craik Mansell, no matter what the issue
of the coming trial may be?"

A shudder quick and powerful as that which follows the withdrawal of a
dart from an agonizing wound shook her whole frame for a moment, but she
answered, steadily:

"No; how can you ask, Mr. Orcutt?"

A gleam of relief shot across his somewhat haggard features.

"Then," said he, "it will be no treason in me to assure you that never
has my love been greater for you than to-day. That to save you from the
pain which you are suffering, I would sacrifice every thing, even my
pride. If, therefore, there is any kindness I can show you, any deed I
can perform for your sake, I am ready to attempt it, Imogene.

"Would you--" she hesitated, but gathered courage as she met his
eye--"would you be willing to go to him with a message from me?"

His glance fell and his lips took a line that startled Imogene, but his
answer, though given with bitterness was encouraging.

"Yes," he returned; "even that."

"Then," she cried, "tell him that to save the innocent, I had to betray
the guilty, but in doing this I did not spare myself; that whatever his
doom may be, I shall share it, even though it be that of death."

"Imogene!"

"Will you tell him?" she asked.

But he would not have been