Jacques Futrelle

“ Mr. Smith laid two hands upon her own. “Never mind all that,” he said quietly. “You seem to think I have done something wonderful. It is within your power to repay me. Will you?”
Edna didn’t move her hand; merely faced him without a word. If there had been any doubt in his mind it was dissipated by the misty light that grew in her eyes, by the happy curl of her lips. ”

“ After a long time the girl nodded. One of her hands still lay a prisoner beneath his own.
“Isn’t it wonderful,” she said dreamily after a moment, “how our lives have become so entangled, each with the other? Almost from the first I saw you aboard ship I knew it would lie so. I don’t know why—I only knew. I understood, too, perfectly, what I must do, and I made my father do it.”
“Those handcuffs! You know that reminds me of something I want to do before I leave Paris. I want to look up the Marquis and slap all the wrinkles out of his face. I think that’s legal.” ”

“ Mr. Smith said simply. “I didn’t mean to—er—everything is coming out all right. So long as none of it became public at the time of my arrest, and now I’m free, everything is all right. Nothing can go wrong.”
“Of course I know it,” she faltered; “but—but—the bare thought of it frightens me. I know, you’ve made me see that my father isn’t a—a thief, as I thought at first; but there is still a chance of discovery, and if it came—”
“It won’t come,” interrupted Mr. Smith. “Do you remember you once told me that you had more confidence in me than any person you ever met? ”