But I mistrusted that, if he once started this game, it would lead him on to another scent.

That Archibald Plinlimmon was innocent of the Jew's murder I felt sure.

Still--what had he been seeking on the roofs by the Jew's house?
It would be an ugly question, if Mr.Rogers blundered on it; and in the way of honest blundering I felt Mr.Rogers to be infinitely capable.

Would that, trusting in his good nature, I had made a clean breast to him! A clean breast?
Isabel too, poor girl, was aching to make confession to her father.

For weeks her secret had been a sword within her, wearing the flesh, and it eased her somewhat (as I saw) even to have made confession to me.