impulsive; but neither am I a stock or a stone or an effigy of wood;
which I most surely must have been if I could have looked without being
deeply moved on the grief, so natural and unselfish, of this strong,
brave, loyal-hearted woman. In effect, I moved to her side and, gently
taking in mine the hand that hung down, murmured some incoherent words
of consolation in a particularly husky voice.

Presently she recovered herself somewhat and softly withdrew her hand,
as she turned towards me drying her eyes.

"You must forgive me for distressing you, as I fear I have," she said;
"for you are so kind, and I feel that you are really my friend and
Reuben's."

"I am indeed, dear Miss Gibson," I replied, "and so, I assure you, is my
colleague."

"I am sure of it," she rejoined. "But I was so unprepared for this--I
cannot say why, excepting that I trusted so entirely in Dr.
Thorndyke--and it is so horrible and, above all, so dreadfully
suggestive of what may happen. Up to now the whole thing has seemed like
a nightmare--terrifying, but yet unreal. But now that he is actually in
prison, it has suddenly become a dreadful reality and I am overwhelmed
with terror. Oh! poor boy! What will become of him? For pity's sake, Dr.
Jervis, tell me what is going to happen."

What could I do? I had heard Thorndyke's words of encouragement to
Reuben and knew my colleague well enough to feel sure that he meant all
he had said. Doubtless my proper course would have been to keep my own
counsel and put Miss Gibson off with cautious ambiguities. But I could