"I'm afraid not, Westwood," he said compassionately. "I know of no place where she could be safe from gossip." "She will hear my story wherever she goes, I suppose you mean," said Westwood wearily. "Ah, well, she will learn to bear it in time, poor soul." The chaplain looked at him curiously. There was more sincerity of tone, less cant and affectation in this man than in any criminal he had ever known. "I suppose, sir," said the prisoner, after a short silence, during which he sat with his eyes fixed on the floor--"I suppose there is no chance of a reprieve--of the sentence being commuted?" "I'm afraid not, Westwood. And you must let me say that your own conduct during the trial makes it more improbable that any commutation of the sentence should be obtained. If, my man, you could have shown any penitence--if you had confessed your crime----" "The crime that I never committed?" said Westwood, with a flash of his sullen dark eyes. "Ah, you all speak alike! It's the same story--'Confess--repent.' I may have plenty to confess and repent of, but not this, for I never murdered Sydney Vane." The chaplain shook his head. "I am sorry that you persist in your story," he said sadly. "I had hoped that you would come to a better mind." "Do you want me to go into eternity with a lie on my lips?" asked Westwood, fiercely. "I tell you that I am speaking the truth now. My coat was torn on a briar; I fired my gun at a crow as I went over the fields to my cottage. I saw a man go into the copse after Mr. Vane just as I came out. Find him, if you want to know who killed Mr. Vane." "You have told us the same story before," said the chaplain, in a discouraged tone. "For your own sake, Westwood, I wish I could believe you. Who was the man? What was he like? Where did he go? Unless those questions are answered, it is impossible that your story should be believed." "I can't answer them," said Westwood, in a sullen tone. "I did not know the man, and I did not look at him. All I know is that he has murdered me as well as Mr. Vane, and blasted the life of my innocent child. And I shall pray God night and morning as long as the breath is in my body to punish him, and to bring shame and sorrow on himself and all that he loves, as he has brought shame and sorrow on me and mine." Then he turned his face to the wall and would say no more. CHAPTER II.