"Bear with me, mother," exclaimed Anne; "and you, Lewis, be still and hear me. I believe with my whole heart that our brother, Norman Rutherford, is innocent of this terrible deed; but, in the judgment of the world, he is condemned long years ago. Every one thinks him guilty. Not your mother only, but Mrs. Catherine, and all who know the story, except myself and one other. Lewis, I do not say how unbecoming and unnatural this passion is, but your mother has only told you, what I have been eager to tell you through all these anxious months. So far as common belief goes, you have heard rightly." "But it is not true," said Lewis, doggedly, throwing himself into a chair; "you admit it is not true. A scheme--a--" "Mother, leave this to me," cried Anne, trembling as she saw the contortion of Mrs. Ross's face. "It is no scheme, Lewis. You do us cruel wrong in using such a word. It is true in every particular, but in the one which has given it all its bitterness to me. It is not true that Norman is guilty. It is true, that for seventeen years--for all Alice Aytoun's sunny lifetime--he has been expiating, in a foreign country, the crime of another man. Do not sneer, mother; I cannot bear it. Do not turn away Lewis; I will not be disbelieved. My brother Norman is innocent; the two hearts that knew him, and loved him best, have put their seal upon his truth, one bearing witness in the clearsightedness of nearly approaching death, the other cherishing it in her inmost heart as the one hope of her waning years. Lewis, here is your father's latest words and testimony. Read it, and believe that it is true." "What is true?" exclaimed Lewis, starting up, without, however, taking the letters which Anne held out to him. "What is the meaning of all this, Anne? My mother tells me first, that this Norman killed the father of Alice Aytoun, and then you come in, and tell me all the story is true, and yet that Norman is innocent; what do you mean? I am not to be treated as a schoolboy. I shall not submit to these mysteries; tell me plainly what you mean." Anne looked anxiously at Mrs. Ross. "Have you told him all? Does he know all, mother?" "I don't understand you, Anne," said Mrs. Ross, sullenly. Anne stood between them, baited by both, her patience nearly breaking down. "Does he know all?" she repeated; "does he know that Norman is alive? Lewis, have you heard that?" Lewis walked through the room hastily, and did not answer. He had heard it--it was clear; and Anne fancied that, like herself, the thousand apprehensions connected with that secret were overwhelming Lewis, that grief and fear for their unhappy brother were swelling up in his heart, too great for speech.