After the first excess of fright had passed the stagnated blood rushed through her veins in a swift torrent, sending sharp, tingling pains throughout her whole body, until it seemed as if she was literally swathed in nettles. But she gave no outward sign. Her thoughts flew to Earle, her manly lover across the sea. She held in her hands the evidence which, a little more complete, and signed by the man before her, would vindicate his honor and restore him the respect and confidence of all who knew him. So she resolved to sit quietly there until this was accomplished, though she wondered if her weak and trembling fingers would be able to hold the pencil and trace the words that yet remained to be spoken. She did not even dare to consider how she was to get home in the fast gathering gloom with that precious paper in her possession; she did not dare to think whether that dreadful creature outside would allow her to leave that place and carry with her the evidence that would serve to doom him to a felon’s cell for a long and tedious term of years. She only found herself wondering how he had attained his position at that window, for she knew they were in the second story of the building, and it seemed a marvel to her that he should be there at all. Had he seen and recognized her while she was talking with Milly outside, and then, fearing what would follow, obtained a ladder and climbed to the window? It was a puzzle to her, but she did not know of the low building attached to the house, and which rendered it very easy for any one to climb and look in upon that poverty-stricken family within. Neither could she know that it had of late been a custom with that wicked man to go there every few nights to see how fast the only person in the world who knew his dread secrets was dying. Tom Drake longed to be rid of the accomplice who knew so much of his evil course, and whom he constantly feared would turn against him. He had heard that day that John Loker was dying, and, determined to see for himself how near he was to his end, he had, as soon as the darkness favored him, climbed to his usual post. His consternation can be better imagined than described as he beheld and recognized Editha Dalton, of all persons in the world the last one he expected to find there, sitting by the dying man’s bedside, writing the confession that branded him the thief and robber that he was. And Editha, notwithstanding that every nerve in her body was vibrating with pain from her startling discovery still sat there, apparently calm and unmoved, waiting to hear the rest. She even turned in her chair a little at last, as if carelessly changing her position. But it was done with a purpose.