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作者: Mary Shelley

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This was a strange tale, but it did not shake my faith; and I
replied earnestly, "You are all mistaken; I know the murderer.
Justine, poor, good Justine, is innocent."
At that instant my father entered. I saw unhappiness deeply
impressed on his countenance, but he endeavoured to welcome me
cheerfully; and, after we had exchanged our mournful greeting,
would have introduced some other topic than that of our disaster,
had not Ernest exclaimed, "Good God, papa! Victor says that he
knows who was the murderer of poor William."
"We do also, unfortunately," replied my father, "for indeed I had
rather have been for ever ignorant than have discovered so much
depravity and ungratitude in one I valued so highly."
"My dear father, you are mistaken; Justine is innocent."
"If she is, God forbid that she should suffer as guilty. She is
to be tried today, and I hope, I sincerely hope, that she will be
acquitted."

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