I was more than contented with this result--I triumphed in my victory. For once, I had really some reason to feel satisfied with myself. I had taken the Christian and merciful side in my discussion with Mr. Playmore; and I had won my reward. I could sit in the same room with Miserrimus Dexter, and feel the blessed conviction that I was not breathing the same air with a poisoner. Was it not worth the visit to Edinburgh to have made sure of that? In repeating, at his own desire, what I had already said to him, I took care to add the details which made Lady Clarinda’s narrative coherent and credible. He listened throughout with breathless attention--here and there repeating the words after me, to impress them the more surely and the more deeply on his mind. “What is to be said? what is to be done?” he asked, with a look of blank despair. “I can’t disbelieve it. From first to last, strange as it is, it sounds true.” (How would Mr. Playmore have felt if he had heard those words? I did him the justice to believe that he would have felt heartily ashamed of himself.) “There is nothing to be said,” I rejoined, “except that Mrs. Beauly is innocent, and that you and I have done her a grievous wrong. Don’t you agree with me?” “I entirely agree with you,” he answered, without an instant’s hesitation. “Mrs. Beauly is an innocent woman. The defense at the Trial was the right defense after all.” He folded his arms complacently; he looked perfectly satisfied to leave the matter there. I was not of his mind. To my own amazement, I now found myself the least reasonable person of the two! Miserrimus Dexter (to use the popular phrase) had given me more than I had bargained for. He had not only done all that I had anticipated in the way of falsifying Mr. Playmore’s prediction--he had actually advanced beyond my limits. I could go the length of recognizing Mrs. Beauly’s innocence; but at that point I stopped. If the Defense at the Trial were the right defense, farewell to all hope of asserting my husband’s innocence. I held to that hope as I held to my love and my life. “Speak for yourself,” I said. “My opinion of the Defense remains unchanged.” He started, and knit his brows as if I had disappointed and displeased him. “Does that mean that you are determined to go on?” “It does.” He was downright angry with me. He cast his customary politeness to the winds. “Absurd! impossible!” he cried, contemptuously. “You have yourself declared that we wronged an innocent woman when we suspected Mrs. Beauly. Is there any one else whom we can suspect? It is ridiculous to ask the question. There is no alternative left but to accept the facts as they are, and to stir no further in the matter of the poisoning at Gleninch. It is childish to dispute plain conclusions. You must give up.” “You may be angry with me if you will, Mr. Dexter. Neither your anger nor your arguments will make me give up.”