“I've had a heavenly little nap,” he said, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands like a child. “Good Lord! That's not their step!” But it was. I had never before been privileged to see the Shadow turned backward on the dial--the years ripped bodily off poor human shoulders--old sunken eyes filled and alight--harsh lips moistened and human. “John,” Miss Mary called, “I know now. Aggie didn't do it!” and “She didn't do it!” echoed Miss Mary, and giggled. “I did not think it wrong to say a prayer,” Miss Mary continued. “Not for her soul, but for our peace. Then I was convinced.” “Then we got conviction,” the younger sister piped. “We've misjudged poor Aggie, John. But I feel she knows now. Wherever she is, she knows that we know she is guiltless.” “Yes, she knows. I felt it too,” said Miss Elizabeth. “I never doubted,” said John Baxter, whose face was beautiful at that hour. “Not from the first. Never have!” “You never offered me proof, John. Now, thank God, it will not be the same any more. I can think henceforward of Aggie without sorrow.” She tripped, absolutely tripped, across the hall. “What ideas these Jews have of arranging furniture!” She spied me behind a big Cloisonnée vase. “I've seen the window,” she said remotely. “You took a great risk in advising me to undertake such a journey. However, as it turns out... I forgive you, and I pray you may never know what mental anguish means! Bessie! Look at this peculiar piano! Do you suppose, Doctor, these people would offer one tea? I miss mine.” “I will go and see,” I said, and explored M'Leod's new-built servants' wing. It was in the servants' hall that I unearthed the M'Leod family, bursting with anxiety. “Tea for three, quick,” I said. “If you ask me any questions now, I shall have a fit!” So Mrs. M'Leod got it, and I was butler, amid murmured apologies from Baxter, still smiling and self-absorbed, and the cold disapproval of Miss Mary, who thought the pattern of the china vulgar. However, she ate well, and even asked me whether I would not like a cup of tea for myself. They went away in the twilight--the twilight that I had once feared. They were going to an hotel in London to rest after the fatigues of the day, and as their fly turned down the drive, I capered on the door step, with the all-darkened house behind me. Then I heard the uncertain feet of the M'Leods and bade them not to turn on the lights, but to feel--to feel what I had done; for the Shadow was gone, with the dumb desire in the air. They drew short, but afterwards deeper, breaths, like bathers entering chill water, separated one from the other, moved about the hall, tiptoed upstairs, raced down, and then Miss M'Leod, and I believe her mother, though she denies this, embraced me. I know M'Leod did.