Steadman, the power of logical thought she had inherited from one or the other of her unknown parents was as strong in her as ever. “Mrs. Steadman,” she said after they had sat in silence for more than a few moments, “though I have come to believe every word you have said about your husband—that he is indeed a man incapable of shooting another in the back—yet there is still something, I find, that I must do before I begin so much as to think how, in the terribly short time we have, his name can be cleared.” “You do what you think right, me dear,” Mrs. Steadman answered. “You do that.” “Then as quickly as may be I must talk to some other people who know your husband. I must find for myself an unclouded view of him. Do you see that? Then, if they confirm what you have told me, and I don’t doubt that they can, I will do all that I may though I do not sleep from now till next Thursday night.” “Yes, that I understand,” Mrs. Steadman answered. “And I can give you names by the score as’ll vouch for my Jack.
