The striped figure made a sudden involuntary movement. She had not seen him, then? Could it be that he had been mistaken, that she had not known? Harry's heart began to beat violently. "I believed it till months afterward, when I came back from Europe. Then I saw a ring which this man had given to his lawyer. It was like the one the man who had given me the letters had worn that night, and this made me afraid that a mistake had been made. I visited the Penitentiary to find out. It was the day of the attack on the warden--when this man was stabbed in his defence." Again she paused and her eyes shifted to the masked figure. "You must have known me," she said gently. "You must have known my name. Yet you never told. Do you think, whatever it might mean to me--after what you did--that I could keep silent, if the truth may help you now?" Sevier had no answer. Through and through the maze of his conflicting feeling was stabbing an assurance sharpened with unbelievable joy. He had been thinking her cowardly and calloused with worldly selfishness; here she was risking all--and not for him, Harry Sevier, whom she loved, but for an unknown convict! The Governor was looking at her with intentness. "You mean that he is _not_ the one who did the shooting?" "He is not." Craig sneered. "She says what she has been told to say," he said with dry lips. "You will understand why, presently." "Perhaps," returned the Governor, coldly, "I shall." Then, turning to Echo-- "How do you know this is not the man?" "This man is tall; the man who did the shooting was short." "But--his face. You saw it that night distinctly? Would you know it if you saw it again?" "As well as I know yours." He said no more, and after an instant's pause, she went on: "Mr. Mason, his lawyer, had told me he believed that if the shooting could have been disproved, his client might have been cleared, and knowing what I did, it seemed to me that I must tell the whole. It--was not easy, for while that night I had thought only of keeping the secret of the letter, I came to see later what the world would say of my presence there. And a woman's name is all she has. So ... I made up my mind. But that same day I read that the man had escaped from prison. There seemed no longer any need then of my telling. There had been no need till now." She stopped, and stood looking steadily at the Governor, her hands twisted together, her face white. She was far less vividly conscious of him, however, and of all the others--Craig, her father, Treadwell--than of one whom she thought far away, but who now, sometime or other, must know! The Governor spoke, quietly and evenly: "Let us go back to a matter of detail. I should like to picture the scene that night a little more distinctly. Where were you standing when the shot was fired?" She changed her position slightly. "Here, nearly in the centre of the room." "And the man who shot from the alcove?"