"My father will be cared for. But who will care for you in the place
where you are going? You will have no friends there. You shall not go
alone. You will need me--in the dark."

"It is good that I go," he said. "It would be wicked, it would be
dreadful, for you to go."

"I go if you go," she urged. "I will lose my soul to be with you; you
will want me--there!"

There was no mistaking her intention. Footsteps sounded outside. The
others were coming back. To die here before her face? To bring her to
death with him? He was sick with despair.

"Go into the next room quickly," he said. "No matter what comes, I will
not--on my honour!"

She threw him a look of gratitude, and, as the bearskin curtain dropped
behind her, he put the phial of laudanum in his pocket.

The door opened, and the Abbe Rossignol entered, followed by the
Seigneur, the Cure, and Jo Portugais. Charley faced them calmly, and
waited.

The Abbe's face was still cold and severe, but his voice was human as he
said quickly: "Monsieur, I have decided to take you at your word. I am
assured you are not the man who committed the crime. You probably have
reasons for not establishing your identity."