came. They moved again, and he whispered, "Tell me."
"She has been arrested . . . . she is in prison."
It was as if an insulting blow had brought back the spirit of resistance into Adam. The blood rushed to his face, and he said, loudly and sharply,
"For what?"
"For a great crime—the murder of her child."
"It can't be!" Adam almost shouted, starting up from his chair, and making a stride towards the door; but he turned round again, setting his back against the book-case, and looking fiercely at Mr Irwine. "It isn't possible. She never had a child. She can't be guilty. Who says it?"
"God grant she may be innocent, Adam. We can still hope she is."
"But who says she is guilty?" said Adam, violently. "Tell me everything."
"Here is a letter from the magistrate before whom she was taken, and the constable who arrested her is in the dining-room. She will not confess her name or where she comes from; but I fear, I fear there can be no doubt it is Hetty. The description of her person corresponds, only that she is said to look very pale and ill. She had a small
