"Tell me, Charles, is there a probability of your ever being able distinctly to prove yourself innocent, to the satisfaction of all men?--Mind, I do not doubt you in the least, or in any way; for when we visited you at the fisherman's cottage, I twice saw a person there bearing the appearance of a lady, and certainly not in the rank of those that surrounded you. There are also parts of your conduct on the day of your father's death which you do not choose to explain--right or wrong, I have combined these two circumstances in my mind together. But remember that I believe your whole motives, your whole conduct, to be upright and honourable--that I have not a doubt--that I have not a suspicion." Everard Morrison advanced from the other side of the table, where he had been standing, and though there was a considerable and unusual glow upon his ordinarily pale cheeks, he spoke in his usual calm and impressive manner. "Madam," he said, "you are quite right. I will take upon me to answer for my friend. Those two circumstances are connected with each other. That lady that you saw is one very dear, perhaps too dear to my own heart, and now, madam, to answer your question distinctly and closely, without putting him to the pain of saying a word upon a subject which he may think right not even to allude to; I will tell you that if he so choose to act, he could at once prove his innocence to the whole world; that he will be able to do so beyond all doubt, at an after period; but that he could not do so now, without bringing certain destruction upon the heads of two other persons, and committing a great breach of trust. The facts I know from others, revealed to me as a legal adviser, and I put it to him, himself, yesterday, with full permission to do so, whether he would break the trust reposed in him, and save his life at the expense of others; or run the risk--the imminent risk of death. Madam, he chose like Charles Tyrrell, and to those who know him, that is enough." "I thought so, I was sure of it," cried Mrs. Effingham, while Lucy gazed up in the face of her lover with her eyes dimmed with tears. "And you must be the sacrifice!" continued Mrs. Effingham, after a pause, gazing upon Charles with feelings of deep interest and compassion. "You must be the sacrifice to your own noble and kindly heart. Would to God that you were married to Lucy, that she might go with you, and be your consolation and your comfort." Charles Tyrrell took Mrs. Effingham's hands in his, and gazed into her face for a moment. "I fear I am very selfish," he said at length, "for I am so tempted to ask you to let her go with me, that though I know you require comfort too, I can scarcely refrain."