"Oh, Frona, it was terrible! Borg fighting for life, Bella helping
him, though wounded and groaning, and I unable to aid. But finally, in
a very short while, I began to conquer the man with whom I was
struggling. I had got him down on his back, pinioned his arms with my
knees, and was slowly throttling him, when the other man finished his
work and turned on me also. What could I do? Two to one, and winded!
So I was thrown into the corner, and they made their escape. I confess
that I must have been badly rattled by that time, for as soon as I
caught my breath I took out after them, and without a weapon. Then I
collided with La Flitche and John, and--and you know the rest. Only,"
he knit his brows in puzzlement, "only, I cannot understand why Bella
should accuse me."
He looked at her appealingly, and, though she pressed his hand
sympathetically, she remained silent, weighing pro and con what she had
heard.
She shook her head slowly. "It's a bad case, and the thing is to
convince them--"
"But, my God, Frona, I am innocent! I have not been a saint, perhaps,
but my hands are clean from blood."
"But remember, Gregory," she said, gently, "I am not to judge you.
Unhappily, it rests with the men of this miners' meeting, and the
problem is: how are they to be convinced of your innocence? The two
main points are against you,--Bella's dying words and the blood on your
sleeve.
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