Whether Tyler’s ultimate redemption was probable or not, Orissa did not care to assume the responsibility of crushing him in order to avenge the shameful attempt, made in a moment of frenzy, to destroy her life. While those assembled hung breathless upon her words she said with assumed composure:
“The man knows better than I whether he speaks the truth. Could one be so utterly vile as to try to murder a girl who had never injured him? I think not. It is more reasonable to suppose that in his excitement he forgot himself—his manhood and his sense of justice—and only at the last moment realized what he was doing. I believe,” she added, simply, “I shall give him the credit of the doubt and accept his statement.”
Tyler stared at her as if he could scarcely believe his senses, while an expression of joy slowly spread over his haggard face. Radley-Todd gave Orissa a quiet smile of comprehension and approval. Cumberford said, musingly: “Ah; this interests me; indeed it does.” But Stephen exclaimed, in an impatient tone:
“That does not clear Tyler of his attempt to murder Mr. Cumberford and destroy the aircraft. He admits that such was his design and that Burthon paid him to do it. He is not less a criminal because Orissa happened to be in the aëroplane. Therefore it is Mr. Cumberford’s duty to prosecute this scoundrel and put him in prison.”
Tyler cast a frightened look at the speaker and began to tremble again. Said Chesty Todd, leaning back in his chair with his hands thrust into his pockets:
“That’s the idea. The prisoner belongs to Mr. Cumberford.”
Cumberford sat in his characteristic attitude, stooping forward and thoughtfully stroking his grizzled mustache.
“Did I hurt you very much when I kicked you, Tyler?” he meekly asked.
“Would you have thought of such a revenge had not Burthon suggested it, and paid you to carry it out?”
“What will you do if I set you at liberty?”
“Ah; that interests me,” declared Mr. Cumberford.
“It doesn’t interest me, though,” Stephen said angrily. “The brute tried to wreck my aircraft.”
“But he failed,” suggested Mr. Cumberford. “The aircraft is still in apple-pie order.”
“My son,” said the boy’s mother, in her gentle voice, “can you afford to be less generous than Mr. Cumberford and—your sister?”