“No,” he said, “but I care. To know that your name was being lightly dealt with, would increase my unhappiness tenfold. Go now. I have not thanked you for coming. If I were to try and tell you, I could not. My heart is too full of the sense of your goodness and sweetness----” He stopped. “Let happen what may, the remembrance of your presence in this cell, your gentle, pitying voice will be with me--yes, even to the end. Oh, hush! Forgive me!” for she had uttered a little cry, and wavered as if he had struck her. “No, I cannot tell you; but some day, perhaps----” He stopped, his voice breaking. “Go now,” and he took her hand and gently drew her to the door. “And you?” she said, faintly; “are you going to keep silent? Are you going to let them do what they will with you? You spoke of the--end! What is that? Do you mean to let them--kill you?” Her voice died away into a sob, and she gazed up into his face with dry, anguished eyes. “God knows!” he said, reverently. “We are all in His hands. If you knew all--and you will never know, thank God!--you would understand; yes, and you would say that if you had been in my place you would have done the same.” “You say that?” she asked, with an inscrutable expression in her eyes--“that I should do as you are doing; that I should take another person’s crime upon my shoulders and suffer for him?” “Yes,” he said, and he met her gaze steadily, “I do say that; and you know that I would not speak untruthfully, even to persuade you to do what I want you to do.” “What is it?” she said, with a little pant. “I want you to forget that such a person as Harold Faradeane ever existed; to erase from your life all memory of him, and--his misfortunes. Don’t let me have to reproach myself with the thought that I have cast a shadow over the life of the only woman I ever----” He stopped. Her lips quivered, and her gaze fell for a moment, then she raised her eyes again. “You ask me to do this?” she said. “I do, with all my heart and soul,” he responded. “Then I tell you that if I were capable of such baseness, I should be as vile--as vile as the man who committed the murder--the man you are screening! No! You ask too much. The rest of the world may take your silence for guilt, but I will not accept it! I will not rest until I have discovered the truth you are concealing.” He uttered a cry of alarm, of dread. “Olivia!” “Yes!” she repeated, her eyes flashing, her lips trembling. “I am only a woman, but I will do what you would have done in my place--save my friend even in spite of himself!” He grasped her arm, his face white and set, his eyes full of a terrible fear. “If any words of mine, if any entreaty can stop you in this course----Believe me--believe me--it would be useless. The evidence is conclusive. No jury in England could fail to find me guilty. No one can stretch out a hand to save me----” “Excepting yourself!” she said. He turned away, and laid his hand upon the door. “And you will not?”