The voice which whispered that Arthur Cumberland was not over-gifted with sensitiveness and would not feel the shame of his position like another, did not carry with it an indisputable message, and could not impose on my conscience for more than a passing moment.

The lout was human; and I could not stifle my convictions in his favour.
But Carmel! I clenched my hands under the clothes.

I wished it were not high noon, but dark night; that Clifton would only arise or turn his eyes away; that something or anything might happen to give me an instant of solitary contemplation, without the threatening possibility of beholding my thoughts and feelings reflected in another's mind.
Was this review instantaneous, or the work of many minutes?
Forced by the doubt to open my eyes, I met Clifton's full look turned watchfully on me.

The result was calming; even to my apprehensive gaze it betrayed no new enlightenment.

My struggle had been all within; no token of it had reached him.
This he showed still more plainly when he spoke.
"There will be a close sifting of evidence at the inquest.