I knew that the jailer was listening to every word outside, and I became unspeakably nervous for fear he would say something which could be twisted into an incriminating confession.

He did not seem to comprehend in the least the danger of his own position; he was entirely taken up with the horror of his father's death.

As I was leaving, however, he suddenly grasped my hand with tears in his eyes.
"Tell me, Arnold, do people really believe me guilty ?" I knew by "people" he meant Polly Mathers; but I had not had an opportunity to speak with her alone since the day of the tragedy.
"I haven't talked to anyone but the sheriff," I returned.
"Mattison would be glad enough to prove it," Radnor said bitterly, and he turned his back and stood staring through the iron bars of the window, while I went out and the jailer closed the door and locked it.
All through the funeral that afternoon I could scarcely keep my eyes from Polly Mathers's face.

She appeared so changed since the day of the picnic that I should scarcely have known her for the same person; it seemed incredible that three days could make such a difference in a bright, healthy, vigorous girl.

All her youthful vivacity was gone; she was pale and spiritless with deep rings beneath her eyes and the lids red with crying.