‘But suppose I were to write to Alec and tell him all this,’ she said to herself, ‘or tell some friend of his, Mr. Blake, for example, and get him to tell the lawyer; he might be able to put the pieces of the puzzle together. If they have made up some plot and allowed the blame to fall on Alec, what a shame!’ And again a pleased look came into her face as she remembered how Alec’s gratitude, if she were the means of establishing his innocence, would surely bring him once more to her side. But--how could she have overlooked it? She could never tell this. She had made herself one of the conspirators. How could she confess that she had kept a watch on the old man, and told his nephew where his private papers were to be found? Could she tell openly that she had smuggled his will out of his room before it was signed, and had given it to Semple to read? She might find herself in the dock instead of Alec, accused of--she knew not what. Who would believe that she had done these things innocently, when she could give no good reason for doing them at all? Was she going to risk standing her trial with Semple, and----? She shuddered, shook her head, and crept upstairs to her own room. She dared not tell. CHAPTER XXXII. BEFORE THE TRIAL. ‘Well, old fellow, how are you getting on?’ Alec turned on the rough bed which served him for a couch in the daytime, and saw Hubert Blake. ‘Not getting on at a particularly fast pace just at present,’ said Alec, as he got up and shook hands with his friend. ‘You’re keeping up your spirits, I hope?’ ‘I do my best.’ ‘How do you amuse yourself?’ ‘I got the doctor to lend me an old Tod-hunter. I find nothing like algebra for making the time pass--that is, if you try to find out something of it for yourself.’ ‘What have you got here?’ asked Blake, who had strolled up to a corner where a card was hanging. ‘Only an almanac.’ ‘And you’re ticking off the days, I see. Are you counting up to the----?’ ‘The day of my trial--yes,’ said Alec, looking as if he wished that his friend had not been so observant. ‘Are you so anxious for it to come off?’ asked Blake, sitting down on the edge of the bed. ‘Yes. Naturally I want to know the worst.’ ‘I was talking with your lawyer friend yesterday. He seems certain that you will be acquitted.’ ‘An acquittal would not set things right.’ ‘What?’ ‘Don’t you see that whether I am convicted or not is a thing that affects only my liberty and my personal comfort? If I am acquitted it will probably be by some of those legal arguments which Mr. Corker used before the magistrate. They may be sound or unsound; it doesn’t matter one straw. How far does an acquittal of that kind go to clear one’s character?’ Blake murmured something vague and deprecatory. ‘Or it may be that the jury may “give me the benefit of the doubt.” Will _that_ set me right with the world? No, Blake. My life is ended, almost before it has begun.’