"Charles--don't excite yourself like this--I have come here to offer you the mercy," spoke Mr. Grubb; and his considerate manner, his voice of music, were just like a healing balm. "I have come straight from Mr. Howard to renew the offer he made you. It is not yet too late: we will make things right tomorrow: there will be no prosecutor, you understand. Will you give me, myself only, the particulars you denied to Mr. Howard?" Just for one eager moment the wish flashed across Charles's mind that he might tell the truth to this good man. Was he not Adela's husband, and would he not excuse her in his love? The next, he saw how futile was the wish. Could _he_ be the one to betray her?--and to her husband? Shame upon him for the thought! He had vowed to her to hold her harmless, and he would do so for her sake. "To me it appears that there is a mystery in the affair which I cannot fathom," continued Mr. Grubb. "Your conduct in it is perfectly incomprehensible. It may be better for you to confide in me, Charles." "I cannot, sir. I wish I could." "What if I tell you that, in spite of appearances, I do not myself believe you guilty?" A bright, eager flush, a glance as of mutual _understanding_ illumined for a moment Charley's face. It seemed to say that just, honourable natures know and trust in each other's innocence, no matter what may be the surrounding signs of guilt. But the transient expression faded away to sadness, and Mr. Grubb was in doubt whether it had really been there. "I can explain nothing," said the prisoner. "I can only thank you, sir, for this proof of confidence, and implore your clemency on the ground of compassion alone." "Charles Cleveland, this won't do. You are either guilty or innocent. Which is it?" "Guilty, of course," said Charley, in his desperation. For if he said "innocent," the next rejoinder would be, "Then who is guilty?" And he could not answer that, or any other close question. "Did you do this vile thing of your own accord; or were you induced to do it by another?" pursued Mr. Grubb, his head running upon Charley's debts and Charley's fast companions. "I--I--pray do not ask me more, sir! It is a wretched business, and I must suffer for it." "Am I to understand that you wholly refuse to confide in me?--refuse to be helped? I would be your true friend." "I must refuse," gasped poor Charley. "I have nothing to tell. I did present the cheque at Glyn's, and I drew the money. And--and I hope you will forgive me, sir, for I am very miserable." "Is all the money spent?" "I--I have not as much as a shilling of it. If I had, I'd give it back. It's too late."