woman, who had watched by the prison gates all night; and she put out her hand in entreaty, and said with a breaking voice: "You are free at last!"
He remembered her—the woman who had looked at him so anxiously and sorrowfully in the court-room.
"Why did you come to meet me?" he asked.
"I was sorry for you."
"But that is no reason."
"I once committed a crime," she whispered, with shrinking bitterness.
"That’s bad," he said. "Were you punished?" He looked at her keenly, almost fiercely, for a curious suspicion shot into his mind.
She shook her head and answered no.
"That’s worse!"
"I let some one else take my crime upon him and be punished for it," she said, an agony in her eyes.
"Why was that?"
"I had a little child," was her reply.
"And the man who was punished instead?"
"He was alone in the world," she said.
A bitter smile crept to his lips, and his face was afire. He shut his eyes, and when they opened again discovery was in them.
"I remember you now," he said. "I remember now. "I waked and saw you looking at me that night! Who was the father of your child?"
"Jean Gamache," she replied. "He ruined me and left me to starve."
"I am innocent of his death!" he said quietly and gladly.
She nodded. He was silent for a moment. "The child still lives?" he asked. She nodded again. "Well,
