He fell back upon his pillow, panting for breath. “Do you hear, Maria? She says—no harm shall—come. I’ve dreamed—of her for weeks—as she lay there sleeping—so innocent—and—beautiful—while—we stole her treasures.” “Hush, John, _please_,” whispered his wife, greatly distressed. “No, Maria; I want to tell her all about it now. It _is_ Miss Dalton, isn’t it?” and he scanned her face eagerly, as if he feared he might possibly have made a mistake. “Yes, I am Miss Dalton; and, if you are able, I want you to tell me all about the night of which you speak,” Editha answered. “I’d have been glad to confess it then, rather than let that fine young fellow go to prison,” he continued, with a deep sigh; “but Tom declared he’d kill me if I peached, and so I—had to hold my tongue.” He paused for breath, and Mr. Loker, turning beseechingly to Editha, said: “Miss, I cannot bear him to run on so. Won’t you _please_ go?” But Editha was determined she would not. Here she had, in the strangest manner imaginable, stumbled across one of the burglars who had so successfully committed a great robbery and then escaped punishment, while another had paid the penalty; and she was resolved to learn the whole story now, if such a thing was possible. If the man should die without confessing the guilt that seemed to lie so heavy on his conscience, all possibility of clearing Earle from suspicion and restoring his fair fame would be forever lost. She disliked to give the suffering woman pain, but Earle’s character was dearer to her than aught else, and it would be a cruel wrong to him to heed her request and go. The man was evidently anxious to confess his guilt; it lay heavy on his heart. He doubtless knew he could not live long, and he desired to make a clean breast of everything before he should die. No, she must stay and learn what she could; but first she felt that the sufferer ought to have some nourishment; he was already much exhausted from his recent excitement, and his strength would not hold out unless he could first have something to eat. Editha went to Milly and assisted her to prepare the broth, which was already warm, and the child then, with grateful thanks, took it to him and fed him with her own hands. He eagerly took all she gave him as if he also was nearly famished, and then seized the soft roll which she had in her hand, eating it with evident relish. His hunger satisfied, he beckoned Editha again to his side. “How came you here to-night, Miss Dalton?” he asked. She explained how it had happened, and he muttered, half to himself: “Yes, yes, I see; you were sent here that justice might at last be done.” “John,” pleaded his wife anxiously, “you are not strong enough to talk any more.” She shrank from the disgraceful confession she saw he had determined to make.