" He clasped and unclasped his fingers around
the palings. "They believe I did it," he protested, with the
bewildered accents of a child. "They all believe it."
Miss Cahill laughed. The laugh was quieting and comforting. It
brought him nearer to earth, and her next remark brought him still
further.
"Have you had any breakfast?" she asked.
"Breakfast!" stammered Ranson. "No. The guard brought some, but I
couldn't eat it. This thing has taken the life out of me--to think
sane, sensible people--my own people--could believe that I'd steal,
that I'd kill a man for money."
"Yes, I know," said Miss Cahill soothingly; "but you've not had any
sleep, and you need your coffee." She lifted the lid of the basket.
"It's getting cold," she said. "Don't you worry about what people
think. You must remember you're a prisoner now under arrest. You
can't expect the officers to run over here as freely as they used to.
What do you want?" she laughed. "Do you think the colonel should
parade the band and give you a serenade?" For a moment Ranson stared
at her dully, and then his sense of proportion returned to him. He
threw back his head and laughed with her joyfully.
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