surprise he had anticipated. "I should not have believed you guilty."

Dumb with wonder, he showed her a haggard face. And she had for him, in
the agony and the abasement of his soul, still quivering from the rack
of emotion that alone could have extorted his confession--she had for
him the half-smile, tender and compassionate, that it is given to most
men to see but once in a lifetime on the lips and in the eyes of the
woman beloved. "Then you knew--!"

"I suspected."

"How long--?"

"Since the night those strange people were here and tried to make you
unhappy with their stupid talk of the Lone Wolf. I suspected, then; and
when I came to know you better, I felt quite sure..."

"And now you _know_--yet hesitate to turn me over to the police!"

"No such thought has ever entered my head. You see--I'm afraid you
don't quite understand me--I have faith in you."

"But why?"

She shook her head. "You mustn't ask me that."

At the end of a long moment he said in a broken voice: "Very well: I
won't ... Not yet awhile ... But this great gift of faith in me--I
can't accept that without trying to repay it."