That was all; but the firm, unfaltering words seemed to carry conviction with them, and even the jury began to look grave and troubled, as if they, too, feared they had convicted an innocent man. But the fiat had gone forth, and the judge, anxious to have the uncomfortable matter disposed of, pronounced the lightest sentence possible—“three years’ hard labor in the State prison at ——.” A mighty sigh burst from the multitude, as if it had come from a single breast, as he ceased, and then a hush like death pervaded the room. It was the best the judge could do, and the very least they could expect; but it was sad to see a promising young man of twenty condemned to penal servitude for a term of years, be it ever so few. The prisoner received it with the same calmness that had characterized him throughout the trial, only a slight quivering of the eyelids showing that he had heeded the words at all. A moment of utter silence pervaded the room after the sentence was pronounced, the court was dismissed, and then the curious but sympathetic rabble went its way. But, with winged feet, a slight form darted forward from the crowd, and, almost before he was aware of her presence, Editha Dalton was beside the prisoner, her pained, quivering face upraised to his. She seized his hand in both of hers, she laid her hot, flushed cheek upon it, and sobbed: “Oh, Earle, forgive me! forgive me! but I _had_ to tell the truth, and it has ruined you.” “Hush, Edie—Miss Dalton. You have done perfectly right, and I have nothing to forgive.” The young man spoke kindly, soothingly, but a sudden flush mounted to his brow, and the hot cheek against his hand thrilled him with a bitter pain. “But it was my evidence that told most against you. I tried not to tell it all; but, oh! they made me, with their cruel questions. If I had not had to say that I _saw_ you, and that the bracelet was mine, perhaps, oh! _perhaps_ that dreadful jury would not have said you were——” She stopped suddenly and shuddered, sobbing bitterly. She could not speak the obnoxious word. “Their _saying_ that I am guilty does not _make_ me so, even though I must pay the penalty as if I were. But I have the consciousness _within_ that I am innocent of the crime, and I shall live to prove it yet to you, Editha, and to all the world,” he answered, in clear, confident tones, with a proud uplifting of his head. “You do not _need_ to prove it to me, Earle; I _know_ it already. I would take your word in the face of the whole world and a thousand juries,” Editha asserted, with unshaken confidence. A glad light leaped into the young man’s eyes, and illuminated his whole face for the moment, at these words. “Thank you,” he replied, in low, thrilling tones, and bending toward her: “it will be very pleasant to remember what you have said while I am——” He stopped short—he could not finish the miserable sentence. His sudden pause reminded the young girl anew of what was to come.