"The poor chap was so overwhelmingly grateful. He thought
me the one indubitably faithful adherent that he had. And so I was
too--though not in the way he thought. And he trusted me absolutely.
Well, was I to give him up--to the law, and the Radbolts, and the jailers
of an asylum--a man who trusted me like that?"
"But he was mad," objected Doctor Mary obstinately.
"A man has his feelings, or may have, even when he's mad. He trusted me
and he loved me, Doctor Mary. Won't you allow that I've my case--so far?"
She made no sign of assent. "Well then, I loved him--does that go any
better with you? If it doesn't, I'm in a bad way; be cause what I'm
giving you now is the strong part of my case."
"I don't see why you should put what you call your case to me at all, Mr.
Beaumaroy."
He looked at her in a reproachful astonishment. "But you seemed touched
by--by what we saw in the Tower. I thought the old man's death and
faith had appealed to you. It seems to me that people can't go through
a thing like that together without feeling--well, some sort of
comradeship.
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