The thought was torment! Miriam brushed her hair back from her forehead. She was suddenly blinded by tears, and paused in uncertainty, unable to go on. In that moment she realized what Guy Trenholm had grown to be to her. Love--had she given her love to a man unasked--unsought? Her face flamed scarlet. Had romance come into her life only to be bitter-sweet? She bowed her head in her hands and the old, familiar prayer, which had sustained her through the horrors of war and Russian revolution, again passed her lips: "God, give me strength!" When Miriam approached the entrance of Abbott's Lodge she was once more calm and collected. As she stepped inside the house she was met by Martha. "You are wanted upstairs in Mr. Paul's old bedroom," the housekeeper stated. "They are waitin' for ye," and giving Miriam no chance to find out who "they" were, she retreated to her kitchen, in time to meet her husband slinking in the back door. Considerably mystified by the message, Miriam went first to her bedroom, tossed off her hat and coat, and then paused long enough to arrange her hair deftly, which had escaped from her hair net when her hat blew off. Miriam had not been in Paul's old bedroom since her interview with Trenholm the night after the murder. The door had always been closed and, never having tried to enter it, she was not aware that, by the sheriff's orders, it had been kept locked. However, she found it not only unlocked, but wide open when she reached there, and, without knocking, she stepped inside the room. Seated near the table were Betty Carter and Guy Trenholm, and, by their attitude, she judged that they were awaiting her in growing impatience. Miriam's heart beat a trifle faster as she met Trenholm's straight gaze, but her manner was entirely natural and composed. "You sent for me?" she asked, addressing him rather than Betty. It was Betty who answered as Trenholm rose and placed a chair for Miriam and, from a motive which Miriam failed to guess and Trenholm himself to analyze, stood by her side, his eyes watching every play of emotion in Betty's beautiful face. "I sent for you, Miss Ward," Betty stated, "and for Sheriff Trenholm, because I wished to see him in your presence," she faltered and grew paler. "It was before him that I flatly contradicted your statement that I was here in this room with Paul on Monday night. I wish to withdraw that denial." The room swam around Miriam. It was the last sentence she expected from Betty. She had exonerated her and before Guy Trenholm. He would know that she had not lied. She stole a look at him. Trenholm's attention was entirely centered on Betty and his expression was difficult to decipher.