of her origin, something of it I already knew or suspected, and, also, that she was hostile to my brother Henry,—though the causes of that hostility I was content to conjecture: I never asked her, and she never told me, what they were. I must reveal, also, what hitherto has been known only to her and myself,—that I have loved this girl almost from the beginning of our acquaintance; and in due time I had reason to believe that my love was returned. But no definite contract was made between us, because it was first necessary that some conclusion should be reached in her relations with my brother. I did not know what she intended as to that, and she probably did not know herself. But, on the night of which so much has been said, we agreed to meet. My illness prevented me from taking part in the proposed ambush, and everything was propitious. She could come to me without suspicion or peril, and we could remain together many hours. Accordingly, she left the camp at the lake before ten o'clock, and reached my rooms at eleven. She was still with me when the groom came to announce the murder, and while he was with me she withdrew into the laboratory. She was still there when we brought back the body; and after my brother and the groom had departed on their errand she helped me to lay out the body, and she put upon his breast the opal ring which was the witness of his fault. Then, at my advice, she returned, as she has told you, towards the camp, until she met the returning party."
While I was uttering these perjuries, I looked neither at my brother nor at the lawyers, but straight at Sinfire. At first her eyes encountered mine; but presently she dropped them, and the flush in her cheeks faded and faded, until even her lips were white. I was prepared to have her spring up and give me the lie: but she did not stir: she hardly seemed to breathe in her stillness. What she would say to me in private remained to be seen; but at least I should have saved her life; and, inasmuch as her fair fame was already overshadowed by her relations with Henry, she might recognize that my action was, at worst, the only possible means of clearing her from complicity with his murder. Nevertheless, her utter undemonstrativeness made me more uneasy than any outbreak would have done. It was the sign of inward storm.
Meanwhile, the sensation produced among the listeners by my testimony was lively and ill suppressed. But I had not yet done.
"I am fully aware," I said, "that what I have told is a sorry tribute from a man to the woman that he loves; and I can only add—to show that I took no base advantage of the confidence she placed in me—that it is the purpose and pride of my life to make her my wife. I would defend her with my life against the shadow of dishonor; but
