then, have been known to you. The mere fact of seeing a strange gentleman in the hall would have been insufficient to cause you astonishment, Mr. Harwell."
He uneasily fingered the back of the chair before which he stood, but made no reply.
"Sit down," I again urged, this time with a touch of command in my voice. "This is a serious matter, and I intend to deal with it as it deserves. You once said that if you knew anything which might serve to exonerate Eleanore Leavenworth from the suspicion under which she stands, you would be ready to impart it."
"Pardon me. I said that if I had ever known anything calculated to release her from her unhappy position, I would have spoken," he coldly corrected.
"Do not quibble. You know, and I know, that you are keeping something back; and I ask you, in her behalf, and in the cause of justice, to tell me what it is."
"You are mistaken," was his dogged reply. "I have reasons, perhaps, for certain conclusions I may have drawn; but my conscience will not allow me in cold blood to give utterance to suspicions which may not only damage the reputation of an honest man, but place me in the unpleasant position of an accuser without substantial foundation for my accusations."
"You occupy that position already," I retorted, with equal coldness. "Nothing can make me forget that in my presence you have denounced Henry Clavering as the murderer of Mr. Leavenworth. You had better explain yourself, Mr. Harwell."
He gave me a short look, but moved around and took the chair. "You have me at a disadvantage," he said, in a lighter tone. "If you choose to profit by your position, and press me to disclose the little I know, I
