"That's it," replied the American, "you made a good stab at it."

"You are M. Lo-eed Keetredge?"

"Yes, sir."

"You must come with me. I have a warrant for your arrest." And he showed
the paper.

But Alice staggered forward. "Why do you arrest him? What has he done?"

The man from headquarters answered, shrugging his shoulders: "I don't know
what he's done, _he's charged with murder_."

"Murder!" echoed the sacristan's wife. "Holy angels! A murderer in my
house!"

"Take him," ordered the detective, and the two policemen laid hold of
Kittredge on either side.

"Alice!" cried the young man, and his eyes yearned toward her. "Alice, I am
innocent."

"Come," said the men gruffly, and Kittredge felt a sickening sense of shame
as he realized that he was a prisoner.

"Wait! One moment!" protested the girl, and the men paused. Then, going
close to her lover, Alice spoke to him in low, thrilling words that came
straight from her soul: