I was horrified. The brute had fled. What was I to do? Go also and leave the poor dead woman? I decided to do so. When at some distance from the scene, I was hailed and confronted by the real murderer and an officer, who accused me of the terrible crime. What could I do? I knew that I was not guilty, but I failed to make the officer believe it. I was taken to jail because of the crime committed by the one who had me arrested. But I had been seen coming from the house and I had dropped my handkerchief while wiping the tears from my eyes. [Illustration: I WAS HAILED AND CONFRONTED BY THE REAL MURDERER AND OFFICER.] It was thought to be a plain case with convincing proof—of circumstantial evidence. Thrown in jail, I was at a loss to know what to do. I was not guilty, but to prove it was the next thing, and the most important thing to do. I hailed the turnkey as he passed, and asked for an attorney. I was favored with the services of one. I did some good thinking as to how I should prove my innocence. “Well, my friend,” said the attorney, “I have come to see what I can do for you. I see you need help. You do not look like a very bad man or a criminal.” “I thank you, sir,” I replied. “I am not either, but why am I accused of murder?” “Murder! You a murderer? Oh, no, I hope not!” “I am not, but how shall I make the court understand that I am innocent?” “Well, my friend, explain your case.” I explained matters, and he remarked: “I do not see how the court could find an innocent man like you guilty. I am going to show the court without trouble that you are not guilty. Have courage; I shall get you out of here as soon as possible.” The day of the trial was at hand. I had become haggard and worn from the terrible strain, from the uncomfortable cell which I had occupied. My case was called. All ready, I was told to take my oath, and then I was sworn to tell the truth and nothing but the truth. If I could make the court understand that I was innocent, I would soon be a free man. “Will you tell the court all about this case?” said my attorney. I proceeded to do so, but, to my horror, I was proved guilty to the jury and sentenced by the judge. What was I to do? I went back to jail to wait for a new trial. If that failed, it meant ten years in prison at hard work. I had been convicted on circumstantial evidence, my handkerchief being found in the house of the murdered woman. I tried to console myself with the belief that in some way I would be helped out. I had remained in jail three months when one night I was thinking of the advice my poor old mother had given me, and that was: “When in trouble, pray, pray, pray!” I began to pray, and as I prayed I felt encouraged. After that, I prayed often, hoping that my prayers would be answered. At last I could see that I was fortunate to know within that I was not the real murderer; then I thought that I should pray for the murderer, and I did pray as I never prayed before.