'Don't thank me, please. I wish I could forgive myself for taking that wretched brief at all. I can only say I did so for fear it might fall into the hands of some abler and bitterer prosecutor. The solicitors were your enemies.' 'Yes; I refused their services. I have wondered since if I was wise. It was Mr. Tressamer who advised me.' 'And why? Why did you trust yourself so entirely to that man? But I forgot. I believe you are or were engaged.' Eleanor raised her eyes, and looked long and searchingly at her questioner. Suddenly she said: 'Before I tell you, why did you come here--for any special object, I mean?' 'Yes. I came, hearing you had refused--and in my opinion rightly refused--to see Mr. Tressamer. I came, taking the privilege of an old friend of your father's and your own, to ask if I might appear for you in the court to which your case is being taken.' 'Ah, then there is a Providence. I am not quite deserted!' She spoke in half irony, and then all at once broke down, and began sobbing as if her heart would break. 'Miss Owen!--don't, Eleanor!' cried her friend in alarm and distress. 'Do try and be calm. All will end happily yet, believe me. I swear to you I will never rest till your innocence is established by the discovery of the real criminal!' For some time she wept on without replying. At last the sobs grew feebler, and she lifted her head. 'Oh, if you knew,' she said, 'what I have gone through these last two months--no, I ought to say these last two years, since my father died, and that you are the first to speak to me in tones that I can trust, you would not wonder that I weep. Sometimes I have felt it too much to bear, and I have actually thought before now of writing to you to tell you all my troubles.' 'To me! Why, do you--are you----' She checked him gently. 'To you, as to my oldest friend, whose memory I could recall with trust and confidence. I am speaking now of a time that has passed. Now I shall never consent to claim anyone as my friend--if I live--until this horrible stain has been wiped off my name.' 'I will wipe it off. Only trust me fully meanwhile, and if you won't claim my friendship, at least so far rely on it as to unburden yourself to me freely. Tell me all, because I feel that you may hold in some way the clue to this mystery. I cannot think that all the circumstances piled up against you were purely accidental, and I must know everything before I can see my way clearly.' She shook her head doubtfully. 'I am afraid that my story will not throw much light on the murder. Indeed, I fear I am abusing your kindness in troubling you with my affairs. It is a father-confessor I want, not a lawyer.' And she smiled faintly. But Prescott was in earnest, and at length he persuaded her to speak. Making allowance for some repetitions and some slips of memory, her story was something like this: