“I wish to ask you about Miss Biron,” said she, to Bram’s great surprise, when she had shut the door of the room, and found herself alone with him. “Oh, yes,” she went on with a little nod, as she noticed his astonished look, “I bear her no malice because my husband loved her better than he did me. I only wish he had married her! I do sincerely hope and pray that I nourish no unchristian feelings against anybody, even the poor, mad girl who killed him, and who has since made away with herself in such a dreadful manner!” She had heard of it already then! Bram was appalled by the manner in which she dismissed such an awful occurrence in a few rapid words. “And, of course,” she went on, “I cannot feel that I have any right to blame Miss Biron, since we know that she did not run away with Christian, as we had supposed.” Bram was overwhelmed with relief unspeakable. This was the first time he had heard anything more than doubt expressed as to Claire’s guilt in this matter. He had, indeed, entertained hopes, especially since last night, that Claire had been wrongfully accused. But what was the strongest hope compared with this authoritative confirmation of it? He was shrewd enough, strongly moved though he was, to control the emotion he felt, and to put this question-- “Did Mr. Cornthwaite--did his father--did Mr. Cornthwaite know that he had done his son and Miss Biron--an injustice, thinking what he did?” “Why, of course he knew,” replied Mrs. Christian promptly. “When he found Christian in London he accused him at once, and, of course, Christian told him--indeed, he could see for himself--he was wrong. Christian knew no more where his cousin had gone to than anybody else did.” Bram was silent. He resented Mr. Cornthwaite’s behavior in leaving him in ignorance of such a fact. But his resentment was swallowed up in ineffable joy. “What I wanted to learn was whether Miss Biron has all the nursing she wants,” chirped in little Mrs. Christian, “because I should be quite glad to do anything I could for her out of Christian charity. I have done a good deal of sick nursing, and I like it,” pursued the poor, little woman. “And I should be really glad of something to occupy my thoughts now in this dreadful time. I have been living with my parents, you know, since this misunderstanding first came about. His father brought Christian here, and when he got well he showed no wish to come back. But when I heard late last night of what had happened, of course I came here at once. And you will ask Miss Biron if she will have me, won’t you? I would nurse her well. And, indeed, they are not very kind to me here.”