He peered intently at the prisoners, one of whom had virtually confessed but a moment before. He noted Paul's amazement and confusion. He noted that the squaw by his side remained calm, save that there stole a look of mockery into her face, as she surveyed the court, and he felt sure that that woman was not a murderess. It was his heart which was on the strain, and enabled him to see and read the reality untrammelled by judgment's frequent errors, wrong deductions, and misinterpretations. He could discern that of which the professional experience of officials took no note, for the heart is clearer sighted than the head. With them there was a juridical problem to be solved by pure reason, an indictment to be made, presentable before a judge and jury--a proposition that the prisoners at the bar were guilty of a specific offence, with evidence in proof. "Where is my child?" was the ruling thought which filled George Selby's mind. The squaw at the bar was the stealer. So much was proved by the witness under oath, and by the implied admission of her fellow prisoner. But she had not murdered the child, though perhaps it had been intended that she should; so much could be drawn from her tranquillity and the confusion of her companion. He felt that he must question that squaw forthwith, and after the prisoners had been formally committed to stand their trial, he obtained speech of her through the assistance of the police sergeant, who took care to elicit an assurance that the reward, advertised fifteen years before in a placard of which he produced a copy, would still be paid when the baby's fate was discovered. "Mary," George said to his wife that evening when they met. "I have news." "News, George? News of what?" "The news we have been waiting for all these years. The squaw is found at last--the right one. She is sister of the one who was taken up at the time. The two changed clothes. That accounts for the confusion at the trial. Those who identified her recognized the clothes. Those who swore to her being in Caughnawaga that day spoke truth, too." "Oh, George!" with a weary sigh; "Is it all to be gone through again? The misery and the pain? Yet now I feel so sure my precious one is at peace, in the arms of God, that I think I can bear it. It is well the discovery, whatever it may be, did not come earlier to embitter our grief." "And yet, my dearest, already something which will shock you has come to light--the instigator of the wrong is named. His accomplice accuses him. That wretched fortune of your most misguided brother has been at the root of all our trouble. That men who find themselves so little wise in directing their own courses, should strive to perpetuate their folly, by imposing their will on others after they are dead!"