A door from Elithe’s room opened directly at the head of the kitchen stairs, and without listening Elithe had heard all the conversation, cowering at first as from heavy blows and then growing surprised and indignant that she should be thought to be biased by a love for Jack Percy. She would clear herself of that suspicion and she asked Mrs. Ralston to come to her. Since the arrest she had refused to see any one, fearing lest something more than she had already said might be extorted from her and be used against Paul. Could she have left the island she would have gone, and she had begged her aunt to send her away, or go with her beyond the reach of lawyers and judges, and trials and subpœnas and constables, of which she had heard so much during Paul’s absence. But Miss Hansford knew better than to allow that. They must meet it, she said, and Elithe grew whiter and thinner every day with the fear of what was coming. Mrs. Ralston found her sitting by the window from which she had talked with Paul and seen him fire the shot, and something in her heavy eyes and drooping attitude reminded her of a young girl hopelessly insane whom she had seen in the asylum at Worcester. She did not get up when Mrs. Ralston came in. She was so tired and sick and sorry that she did not want to move, and with a slight inclination of her head waited for Mrs. Ralston to speak, which she did at once, telling why she was there and saying: “It is not possible that you are right, and I want you to think it over carefully. Recall everything. Give my son the benefit of every doubt. Remember his life is involved and a few words from you might save him. Don’t let any personal feelings influence you because it was Mr. Percy who was shot.” She did not get any further. Elithe understood her, and her face was scarlet and her heavy eyes bright as she said: “Please stop. I know what you mean, and it is not true. I am sorry Mr. Percy is dead, but that does not influence me at all. Mr. Ralston never meant to kill him, but he did, and I saw him. Thinking it over will make no difference. I saw him, and if they make me speak I must say so, but I would rather die than do it. You don’t know how I feel. There’s a tight band around my head which burns like fire. All above and below is cold and aches and throbs. I can’t tell you how dreadful it is! It’s like two engines beating on my brain from different points.” She had slipped from her chair and was kneeling at Mrs. Ralston’s feet, repeating the story of that Sunday night rapidly and concisely and leaving no doubt on Mrs. Ralston’s mind that she fully believed all she said, and that no reconsidering could change her mind. Elithe would convict her son if nothing else did. And yet she could not feel as angry with her now as she had done, and when she left it was with a greater pity for Elithe than she had felt for Clarice. “Did you get any satisfaction?” Miss Hansford asked, when she was in the room below.