What she wanted to see in Rowan, what she always did see except for this one incongruous aspect, was what others saw, too, the fineness and the strength of him. Some sound on the porch outside attracted her attention. A loose plank creaked. It seemed to her she heard the shuffling of furtive feet. Then there was silence. Ruth sat up. The curtains were drawn, so that she could not see out without rising. Fingers fumbled at the latch of the French window she had had made. She was not afraid, but she felt a curious expectant thrill of excitement. Who could be there? Slowly the casement opened. A man’s head craned forward. Eyes searched the room warily and found the young woman. Ruth rose. “You—here!” Larry Silcott put his finger to his lips, came in, and closed the window carefully. “What do you want?” demanded the girl, eyes flashing. The man looked haggard and miserable. All his gay effrontery had been wiped out. “I want to see you—to talk with you,” he pleaded. “What about?” Her manner was curt and uncompromising. “I want to explain. I want to tell you how it was.” “Is that necessary?” asked Ruth, her scornful eyes full on him. “Yes. I don’t want you to blame me. You know how—how fond I am of you.” She threw out a contemptuous little gesture. “Please spare me that.” “Don’t be hard on me, Ruth. Listen. They had the goods on us. We were going to hang—every one of us. They kept at me day and night. They pestered me—woke me out of my sleep to argue and explain. If it hadn’t been me it would have been one of the others that gave evidence for the State.” “I don’t believe it.” “It’s true. Both Haight and Matson told me so. The only question was who would come through first.” “If that was the only question for you, then it shows just what you are. Did you never hear of such things as honour and decency and fair play? If anybody was entitled to the benefit of State’s evidence it should have been the married men, poor Sam Yerby or Mr. Rogers. They have children dependent on them. Anybody with the least generosity could see that. But you’re selfish to the core. You never think of anybody but yourself.” “How can you say that when you know that I love you, Ruth?” Her eyes blazed. “Don’t say that. Don’t dare say it,” she cried. “It’s true.” “Nothing of what you say is true. You don’t know the truth when you see it. They picked you, Haight and Matson did, because they knew you had no strength or courage. Do you suppose that the others didn’t get a chance to betray their friends, too? All of them did. Every one of them. But they were _men_. That was the difference. So the prosecution focused on you. And you weakened.” “Why not? I didn’t kill Tait or Gilroy. Why should I be hanged for it? I wasn’t guilty.” “You are as guilty as Rowan was.” “I dunno about that. He shot Gilroy, if Falkner didn’t,” Silcott said sulkily. “Never! Never in the world!” she cried. “Don’t tell me so, you cowardly Judas!”