refined by suffering; he had aged ten years in eighteen months.
Tom went straight to his old enemy, turning his back on his old friend.
“You came out to stop this marriage, sir?”
“I did—it was the only way.”
“I congratulate you on arriving in time. You would have had a murderer for your son-in-law!”
Daintree gave a cry; Tom had turned upon him with flashing eyes.
“How do you know?” cried Harding in amazement.
“I will tell you. This man has been my best friend. He paid for my defence, and he took me away from the iron-gang. Do you know why?”
“I know one reason.”
“So do I, but there was another. He’s been hedging matters with his God. He murdered Blaydes himself.”
“Blaydes!”
And Mr. Harding flung up his hands, while Daintree sank into a chair, as yellow as a guinea, but with hot eye-balls fixed searchingly upon Tom.
“Your proofs!” said he hoarsely. “Your proofs in support of this—monstrous—charge!”
“I have clear proof in my pocket,” said Tom to Mr. Harding, as he buttoned up his coat. “I have the receipt I gave Blaydes for his watch and chain!”
Daintree sprang up: he was trembling from head to foot, but his fists and his teeth were clenched.
“Thief!” he hissed. “You have broken open my desk! I saved you from the gallows. You think you’ll hound me there in return—you fool, when you know what I know! What you have stolen is no proof at all.
