In my dilemma I looked to Miles in the hope of help, but his gaze was turned to the open window in seeming abstraction. At last, unable to longer bear the strain of his pathetic silence, I yielded to the promptings of my feelings and putting my hand on his shoulder told him that I believed what he said and would help him if I could. The light of hope came into his face at once, and clasping my hand with both of his, he thanked me. I had not the heart to discourage him at that moment in his new-found hope, though I felt there was little foundation for it, and so, to avoid further questions, asked him if he could suggest any lawyer whom he would like to engage to defend him. He thought a moment but shook his head. "No," he said sadly, "I have neither friends nor money. How can I get a lawyer?" "You have money," I told him, "though I don't know how much; for Arthur White has left you his sole heir." "Arthur has left me his heir!" he repeated after me in a vague way and without any sign of emotion. "Yes," I said, "and as I am the executor of his will, I will see that a good lawyer is retained for you." He made no answer, and I added: "If you need anything, let me know and I will attend to it for you." "I shall not need anything," he replied, "but won't you come and see me sometimes?--I am lonely." I promised to do so, and feeling that nothing more could be done for him then, closed the melancholy interview by recalling the warden for his prisoner. I shook hands with him upon leaving, and as I reached the door was glad to see Miles, as he followed me, do the same. Winters kept his eyes fastened on me alone, however, and they had in them a child's look of trust and dependence. Truly I had assumed a sad and heavy burden. As the great doors and gates closed in turn behind us with a thud and thang and we stood in the bright sunshine once more and amid the busy throng of the streets, I drew a long breath of relief, but my heart ached for the lonely man behind those prison walls. Neither Miles nor myself had much to say for awhile as we took our way back toward our own section, but finally I broke the silence by asking him how he was impressed with Winters's statement. He replied: "It won't acquit him unsupported, but I think he told the truth." "What are we to do about his case then," I asked. "Certainly you do not intend to continue your search for evidence against him?" "No," he answered, "it is not necessary that I should do that. I will do what I can to get more information about the case generally, which, if he is innocent, can only help him." "Then," I said, "I may depend upon your help in my work." He promised it, and I asked him to find out for me first, if possible, what had become of the missing bills.