THE MISSING WITNESS.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 12599, 28 February 1903, Page 5

THE MISSING WITNESS.

[Published by Special Arrangement.]

By MAEY H. 'TENNYSON,. iuthor of "Within Her Giasp," "The Brandon Jewels," " A Cruel Dilemma" " The Temptation of Justin Hampden," etc., etc.

[COPTMGHT.] CHAPTER XXI. With his head bent dejectedly, Gilbert Gtpbart -walked down the stone-strewn cutting that led to the shore; more than once he stopped irresolutely, hut each time, after a. momentary' pause, with a heavy sigh ha proceeded on his way. His progress was"very slow, however, and he was still not morethan halfway down the steep load when, with a sudden ejaculation, he raised his head sharply. Borne on the soft breeze there had come 'to him an ominous, chilling sound. The sound was not loud, but there was an uncanny agony in the faint: cry that made his hair stir on his head as he stood listening keenly. But in a minute the complete silence reassured .him, and he smiled bitterly at his own weakness. "It's time I pushed on," he muttered, resuming' his way; "lam as nervous as a woman. Even the cry of a sea bird I magnify into a tragedy. I am a meddlesome impressionable fool!" ; Then, with a quick gasp, he stopped again, and the next moment was tearing up the ascent, his face working with excitement. .

The cry had been repeated. This time the air was scarcely stirred by it; but its weird faintness made it the more impressive. It was no sea bird, he was sure of that now. It was a woman—a woman crying tor help. In three minutes Stobart had gained the level moorland, and then after a quick glance round he rushed onward once more. Three or four hundred yards further stood the girl who had interested him so strangely; she was clad in a long, black cloak, there was a bundle on the grass by her side, and she was standing upright and rigid, with her two arms stretched forward imploringly. Her face, from which the large, grey eyes glared with a gleam that approached to'actual insanity, was livid in its awful pallor. In little more than an hour, it seemed to Gilbert Stobart, this woman bad aged 20 years; and as he looked at her his sense of pity grew so overwhelming that, forgetful of all conventionalities, he ran right up to her, and, seizing the outstretched fingers, clasped them tightly. "What has happened!" he cried impulsively. "Don't refuse my help. For Heaven's sake speak. It breaks my heart to see vou like this."

By an effort she turned her eyes from the seato hia earnest glowing face, but her senses appeared to be still astray, and she looked at him with an expression of speechless horror that chilled him to the heart.

For only a moment her haunting eyes rested on his, and then she turned them seawards again, and once more the desolate cry escaped her lips., But he felt her icy fingers close on his; instinctively, it seemed, she clutched- at the physical support he offered her, and he took her two small hands in one of his, and passing his arm round her figure, which now shook in almost convulsive tremblings, be followed with his eyes the line of here, and then became aware that the steamer had left the island, and was just gaining the open sea.

. Instantly he leapt to a conclusion. In the bundle, hastily gathered together, which lay at her feet, and which had fallen open, he could see the newspaper he had given her an hour before, some linen and a brash and comb. Her purpose, then, had been to leave the island by the steamer. Holding her tightly, for she would have fallen had he not supported her, he looked around and saw that half a dozen steps to the right was the great boulder which had served him for a seat during his gloomy cogitations only a short time before. Carrying his helpless companion to it, he seated himself by her side, and, abstracting from his pocket the silver flask of whisky .which, by good fortune, happened tc be there, he poured a small quantity into the cup, and ventured to hold it to her chattering teeth; then tilting a few drops into her mouth, he watched the'result anxiously. Presently the girl swallowed mechanically, choking and catching her breath with an involuntary shudder, and then she sat upright, coughing violently, and wringing i her hands piteously.

He waited for the paroxysm to pass, and then, leaning forward, looked into her face, heaving a sigh of profound relief as he saw a look of recognition flash into her astonished eyes. For a moment Aniionetie stared at her supporter in, speechless bewilderment, her haggard face flushing painfully. "Have I been ill again?" she asked. Then her eyes fell on the bundle lying on the ground a few yards distant; the newspaper was fluttering in the fresh breeze. In an instant the colour left her cheeks, and, starting to her feet once more, she directed her eyes towards the sea. Thi steamer had turned a projecting headland, and from where they stood was now invisible; but a long streak of black smoke that still hung in the clear air showed the course it had taken. With anothei pitiful cry the girl sank upon the stone again, and, dropping hei white face •in her hands, utterly regardless of Stobart's presence, moaned out: "Too late! too late. They are judging Mm now, and I cannot save him. Oh, God! is there no help for an innocent man and a wretched, hopeless woman?" Carried away by the magnetism of her despair, the ■ young man grasped her shoulder, and actually shook her in the vehemence or his excitement.. "Listen to me," he cried. "Don't sit there crying and wringing your hands. Tell me what k wrong. You may trust me. Did you want to. get away by that steamer?" Startled by the aptness of the question, she raised her head. " Yes," she sobbed, " The next boat will not Come for four days. It would take me three days to get there, and by that time it will be all over; and then, perhaps they might not listen to me, or he will have died of the disgrace and horror of it.' " And. he wants to die," she went on wildly. "I have poisoned his life; he wants to die, and his blood will be upon my head." Gilbert Stobart's face was almost as white as Antionette's as for a minute he stood silently looking down upon her. He could only guess at his companion's trouble, still; but her broken words had shown him that he must trample underfoot at once the tenderness of the sympathy he had felt for her from the instant she had come into his life. In a few seconds, however, he lifted iis depressed head, his eyes shining with unselfish devotion.

"Where do you want to go?' he asked calmly. " To Mannington." "Mannington?" he repeated. "I don't know where it is." ' "You have to go to Stafford first," she replied hopelessly. "Stafford is on the main line to the north," he interrupted excitedlv. "We can get from Qban to Glasgow. That will do." His face glowing with honest enthusiasm, ha ran to where the bundle lay, and rolling the 6hawl tightly round it returned to her as she sat staring blankly at him. Then he put his right arm round her, and assisted her to her feet. "Wim the help of my arm, could you walk down to the shore? " he asked. She did not understand his intentions, but his gentle voice soothed and comforted her to some slight extent, and she raised her forlorn eyes to his. Then she grasped suddenly at his arm. "What do you mean?" she cried sharply. "JVhat is in your mind?" He laid his hand over her clutching fingers. " Keep calm," he said, " All depends upon your nerve and strength of purpose. That is my yacht, the Sylvia, lying at anchor there. I will take you to Oban; the wind is fair ,and she is a fast sailer.

From Oban we will go to Glasgow. If you can walk to the shore now, and can trust yourself to me, we will sail in 10 minutes from the time we get on board."

He felt her hands tremble on his arm, but she did not speak, and he looked inquiringly into her face. Then his heart bounded and contracted again with a pang. Her eyes were swimming in tears, and her lips were quivering; but there was such an intensity of gratitude in her face that he scarcely dared to look on it. " Come, he said softly. " Come, madam, we must lose no time. • Lean upon me Bo not cry any more. It weakens yon." Then supporting her with tender reverence, he led her down the steep path; nor

did ehe speak once until, by slow and painful degress, they reached the landing-stage. 'Stobart made no effort to break the

silence, except now and then to utter a word of encouragement,, and,; indeed, as they neared their destination he grew considerably perplexed as to how he could account satisfactorily for the unexpected guest he proposed bringing on board the vacht

And when at last they encountered the men who were waiting at the landingstage with the boat, the lowering confusion in their faces, when he told them the lady was to accompany them, was so apparent he glanced uneasily at his companion to see how she was affected by it. But he need not have feared. Seated by his side in the stern of the dinghy, Antionette heeded not the frowning faces of the bronzed, bearded sailors; her whole figure was tense with excitement, and her big eyes were fixed yearningly upon the yacht, which bent and dipped on the blue waters.

In five minutes the dinghy reached the side of the vessel. In an instant Stobart sprang on board, and then, turning, he assisted the girl to mount the ladder-like steps, supporting her firmly until she stood on the white deck.

Offering her his arm and' carrying her bundle, without a word to the grim Scotch skipper, who, utterly dumbfounded, stood silently looking'on, Gilbert led Antionette down the brass-bound steps into the luxurious saloon, and then, showing her the beautiful private cabin whioh' would be at her service until the Sylvia reached Oban about noon on-the following day, he returned to the deck.

The crew, numbering 12 men, were gathered together in a group, the skipper in their midst. They were whispering when- Stobart set his foot upon th'e deck, but at the sight of him an ominous silence settled down upon them.

Assuming a confidence he did not feel, for the surliness of the men's demeanour rendered him very uneasy, for if there were any delay in their start the consequences to the unhappy woman on board might be terribly serious, Stobart gave directions that the anchor should be weighed, and the vessel got under way as soon as' possible. As a rule his orders were carried out with a promptness that was almost enthusiastic, but this time there was no movement among the men, nor did the skipper utter a word.

Then squaring bis broad shoulders, with an expression of dogged determination on his comely countenance, Stobart raised his head proudly, and looked them straight in the face. "Look here, Captain," lie said, sharply, " I'm master here, isn't that so?" "Ay, sir; ye're the maister, sure enough," the skipper replied grimly. " It's the leddy that puzzles us." With a quick flash the young man turned on him; but in an instant his glance softened, and a look of actual entreaty cami, into his eyes, as, crossing to the skipper, he laid his tanned hand on the seaman's arm. "See here, MacNeil," he said, "I want you to make no difficulties, but to crowd on sail and start at once." "Weel, sir," the man replied, uneasily, "I shouldna wish to refuse you onything, but that leddy " . "That lady ,is a stranger to me," Stobart cried. "I swear to you I do not even know her name, and have never spoken to her until an hour ago. But she is in terrible distress. I found her fainting there on the moor. What her trouble is I know no more than you do, but she tells me that an innocent man in England is in danger of condemnation unless she gives her evidence in his favour. . She did not know {his in time to catch the steamer, and she cannot leave the island for four days now, except by the Sylvia. Would you have an innocent man ruined and a woman driven mad because you are afraid of people's tongues? I should feel myself disgraced as an English gentleman to withhold help from a woman who needed it for any such pitiful consideration. And surely a Scotchman isn't behind an Englishman in matters of chivalry. Come, Captain, don't fail this poor lady in her need, and shame me. What could I say to,her? 'Go on shore, madam? We are 13 strong, hardy men, but w„ are afraid of you?' Look here, Captain, get us to Oban by noon to-morrow, so that she can catch the afternoon express to Glasgow, and there's 10 guineas for you, and two for each ot the crew."

Then the surly Scotch skipper raised, his rougfi hand excitedly. "Na, sir," he cried. "I wouldna do what

I thought wrong for twice 10 guineas. Keep yer siUer mon. I ask yer pardon for having doubted ye. Now then, lads, with a will, ulie order is that we make Oban by 12 to-morrow. Steward, tell the ceok there's a leddy on board. There must be some sort of soft pudden at dinner tonight."

Li a moment everything was commotion ; up rose the anchor, out bellied the sails, and half an hour late, the Sylvia, with all canvas' spread, glided through the narrow strait, winging her way like some huge white bird for Oban. CHAPTER XXII. The courthouse at Mannington was crowded to its utmost capacity on the second day of the trial on a-charge of murder of Sir Malcolm Stanton, Bart. In the middle of the first day's hearing the presiding judge, oppressed by the stuffy atmosphere of the crammed Wilding, had suddenly turned faint, and, being still seriously indisposed the next morning, the trial had been adjourned until the following day. . But now the ghastly business appeared to the numerous sympathisers with the accused man to be proceeding with horrible, inexorable swiftness; and more than one sturdy squire, actually sick with apprehension as the toils closed round the prisoner, had had to push his way quickly out of the vitiated atmosphere, unable to endure longer the awful strain on heart and nerves. And indeed, on this, the second day of the trial, the evidence against the accused appeared absolutely conclusive. On the first day, only two witnesses had been examined—Burrowes, the gamekeeper, and the constable Myles, who had been directed to arrest the suspected man; but the evidence of these two had been overwhelming, and although the prisoner's had done his best to shake, their depositions, by increasing the miserable embarrassment of the two men, who.spoke with the utmost reluctance, he did not benefit bis cause in any degree, for— especially in the case' of Burrowes—it became obviously evident that the.'witness was' only too much inclined to shield the, master to ■whom he was so entirely devoted, even at "••.expense of truth,' -v

Hie evidence of Bunwes, in substance, was that at 10 o'clock on the night of the 18th of April, while sitting quietly with his wife in his cottage, he had heard a faint report of firearms—whether it was a pistol or gunshot which he heard he was not prepared to swear; he only knew it was very faint, so faint that his wife, whose ears were not so keen in such matters, did not hear it. The sound seemed to him to come from the direction of the giant oak. He had heard nothing suspicious until that moment, and had it happened that he and his wife had been speaking at the instant the sound was not loud enough to have attracted his attention.

Questioned as to why he did not go out immediately on hearing the shot, Burrowes seized the opportunity to break into an enthusiastic panegyric on his employer, which the prosecuting counsel made no attempt to subdue. Burrowes declared that there had been no doubt in his own mind that the shot was that of a poacher, hut Sir Malcolm Stanton, having always an immense sympathy with the poor, and, moreover, holding very unusual sentiments on the existing game laws, had repeatedly given him to understand that, except in very flagrant instances, he would be better pleased not to have to prosecute anyone for breaking the law in this way. Therefore the witness had felt he could on this .occasion shut his ears to the faint sound, and had done so.

At this point there was an ominous pause on the part of the gamegeeper, and being forced to proceed the man's voice sank, so low it was with the utmost difficulty the breathless, eager throng caught the faltering words.

Quite early on the morning of April 19 Burrowes experienced his first shock. Going to his son's room as usual to wake him, ho found it empty, and the bed undisturbed.

This occasioned him considerable surprise and some a.!arm, for he knew that (he lad had gone to his room with a headache at about 20 minutes past 8 the previous evening. He noticed the hour, for the boy had come home just as his wife and he were sitting down to supper. Philip did not enter the kitchen where the meal was prepared, however, calling out from the passage that he could not eat, but went straight lip to his bedroom.

An hour afterwards Mrs Burrowfs went to see how the boy was, but returned, sayin<* that his door was locked and the lad evidently aslceD.

Questioned as to what he thought when lie found the room empty, the witness, explained that he feared Philip also had heard the shot, and, being very venturesome— singularly so, considering his slight lameness—had gone out himself without leave to ascertain what was occurring in the woods. Afterwards this idea was strengthened by finding that there was a ladder

standing against the wall, which the boy might have made use of to get out of the house without the knowledge of his parents. From that time, the witness declared, he had heard or seen nothing whatever of his son. Pressed as to how he could account for the lad's absence, the man turned obstinate —persisting that he had no notion whatever of the reason for it; but that Phil was no fool, and he had no fear that any actual harm had come to him. Burrowes was forced to admit, however, that the boy might have been skilfully kept out of the way by someone anxious to suppress his evidence. There was another ominous pause here, and then the gamekeeper went on to state with many breaks that, uneasy on his son's account, he had gone out at once, meaning to search the woods, and on reaching the giant oak had discovered the dead body of Rudge. The murdered man was lying upon his back, and near him on tho grass was an old red leather letter case, apparently empty. The witness declared he was so horrified at the terrible spectacle that he noticed nothing further, but, on an impulse, rushed out into the highroad, which was only a quarter of a mile distant, with the natural idea of calling for help. There, as chance would have it, the first man he met was Constable Myles, and with him he returned at once to the body. Questioned as to whether he liad any suspicions as to the probable murderer, Burrowes at first denied that he had; but being reminded gravely and solemnly that he was on oath, and that he was bound under a heavy penalty to assist the course of justice, the reluctant man, hanging his head, and crimson with suppressed feeling, confessed that a thought of Sir Malcolm Stanton had just crossed his mind for an instant, for Sir Malcolm and the murdered man were on terms of hot enmity. Myles, the constable, gave his evidence with professional satisfaction in his own importance, stating that he had accompanied tho last witness to the giant oak in Feldon Woods at half-past 7 on the morning of April 19, and had seen the body of the man Budge. Taking careful note of the surrounding ground, under the seat which encircled the' tree he observed that the earth was j freshly disturbed, and, scratching away "the loose mould, he had discovered a few inches from the surface, a silver-mounted revolver, with five of its chambers still loaded. One chamber, however, was empty, and this he could see had been comparatively recently discharged. Up to this moment Myles had spoken with what, in comparison with the emotion of Burrowes, had appeared actual callousness; but now the man's professional stoicism suddenly gave way, and, coming to the arrest of Sir Malcolm Stanton, he hesitated and faltered painfully. The baronet had received him in perfect silence, he said, and had spoken no word whatever in his own defence, though he had pleaded "Not guilty" to the

charge; but his bearing and the expression

of his face had been those of an innocent man, and the constable declared with simple earnestness he had never felt so bad in his life as when lie had been compelled to

arrest on a capital charge the most honoured gentleman or the county. The court had adjourned at this point in consequence of the indisposition of the judge; and when the prisoner once more took his place in the dock the face of every man in the jury box was white and drawn with anxietv.

The first witness examined on the second day was George Meadows, L.R.C.S., the local medical man, whom the constable had summoned to view the body before it was moved from the spot where it had been discovered by Bun-owes. The sugeon, locally styled "the Doctor," was a fussy, fatuous, seemingly elderly man, a type of a class common enough in country districts 30 or 40 years ago, but now fortunately rarely to be met with. For a man to pass the examinations necessary to obtain his diploma, if might well be imagined that be must be possessed of some culture and brains; but a few years since there were a very large number of surgeons.earning a scanty living in obscure towns and villages, who, "in their general bearing, showed an entire absence either of education or intelligence, and to this class belonged Air George Meadows. Irritation and impatience were to be seen on every icountenance in the court as the vulgarly dressed man gave his evidence, dwelling on the details "with the utmost satisfaction, and evidently repoicing in the sound of his own pompous voice; but no one could deny the horrible importance of what lie said.

This witness displayed no reluctance in strengthening the case against the prisoner; tut there was not a man in the jury box at least to whom "the Doctor" was unand all of them retained a lively recollection of a certain coroner's inquest a year or two back, at which "the Doctor" had been severely censured for his inhuman ■conduct in refusing to attend a man "in extremis" because there was a doubt as to the payment of his fee. lir Malcolm Stanton, among others, had expressed his sentiments of disgust openly on the occasion, and by doing so had made a secret enemy of " the Doctor " for life. Mr George Meadows declared that Rudge had died from the effects of a bullet wound in the head j he had himself extracted the bullet from the base of the skull. Asked: to produce the bullet, the surgeon admitted that he had inadvertently mislaid it. He imagined he knew where he had placed it, but it could not be found anywhere. He had seen the revolver discovered in the earth under the seat of the oak, however, and there existed no doubt whatever in his mind that the bullet was exactly similar to those in the five undischarged chambers.

The course taken by the bullet, and the unscorched condition of the skin round the wound, proved conclusively to him that the fatal injury was not self-inflicted; and, so far as he could judge, the man had been dead for about 10 hours when'he was called to view the body at 8 a.m. on April 19. In his opening address, the prosecuting counsel had felt it to be absolutely incumbent on him to allude to the mysterious disappearance of the accused man's wife, as well as to that of the bof Philip Burrowes; and also to point out the fact that Lady Stanton's absence was the more incriminating circumstance of the two. For, while it might be inferred that the boy had been got rid of as a dangerous witness, the flight of the lady must unhappily be regarded in a still more serious light.

At the coroner's inquest, and also at the magisterial inquiry, one of the principal witnesses for the prosecution had been prostrated by fever, and utterly unable to give his evidence; but there could be little doubt that Lady Stanton's flight, which this,,witness would prove had preceded the murder, furnished a probable cause for "the committal of the terrible act, for it was well known that there had been grave differences between the murdered man and Sir Malcolm Stanton, and that the prisoner had threatened the man, after a stormy scene in which Lady Stanton declared that Budge had grossly insulted her. And, the counsel proceeded, it could not he doubted that Budge was in possession of some secret dangerous to.Lady Stanton's reputation, for it was plainly evident to the household at.lFeldon Park "that, after this scene and

the instant dismissal of Eudge, the relations between' Sir Malcolm and his wife were very strained.

Throughout the whole hearing Sir Malcolm Stanton stood in the dock, declining the seat offered to him, with a perfectly impassive countenance; but more than one noticed a quick flush pass over his pale face, and a look of commiseration come into his eye.s, as young William Blunt was helped into the witness box; and', indeed, there was no one present who did not experience an extra chill of ill-omen as the hapless young fellow raised his head, and with piteous eyes gazed in appeal first at the solemn judge and then at the apprehensive jurymen. But there was no escape for the scared lad, he had to speak, and men, and- women, too, despite the heat of the day, shivered involuntarilv as they listened to the faint; halting words. The prosecuting counsel dealt very gently with this witness, but he had a stern duty to perform, and the' haggard young man actually writhed with misery, as one after another the damning facts were drawn from him. '.

Forced to sneak, he told how, a little after 9 on the fatal evening, being concealed behind the curtains of the library,

he had seen his master enter the room, apparently in a condition of terrible mental 'distress. For' a time Sir Malcolm had re-

mained seated, without removing his hat or overcoat, seemingly exhausted by emotion ; and then he had risen, and kneeling down before the fire had been occupied for the space of a minute or two in burning something—what, the witness could not see,—• but he heard the prisoner stir the. fire more than once, as though, there was some difficulty in getting rid of the thing. When that was done, Sir Malcolm had gone out of the room for a minute or so— lie imagined intp the morning room, opposite the study—and, returning almost immediately, had waited straight to the bureau in a corner of the study; the witness could not see him at this moment, but he heard him opening the drawers as though searching for something, and in another minute Sir Malcolm shut the drawers and came to the table in the centre of the room. Here the unhappy witness broke down, hut after a minute's delay he was compelled to answer the inexorable question as to what his master held in his hand when he returned to the table, and, being shown the revolver unearthed by the witness Myles, he admitted brokenly that it was that. There was no doubt at all in his mind as to the identity of the weapon; he had often polished the silver mountings of the revolver. William Blunt further deposed bow, fearing that something was wrong, lie had followed his master, but that, being confused and frightened, a few minutes had elapsed before he could make up his mind to this course, and he had arrived only at the gamekeeper's lodge when he heard the shot fired. After that he had no distinct recollection of his own proceedings. He was terribly frightened, and he supposed | he must have run back to the house, for he had been found lying dressed on his bed the next day delirious with fever. ' In his ravings, it appeared, he had said things he would sooner have bitten out his tongue than spoken, and so it came about that he stood where he did, giving evidence against the best master that ever a man had. The poor young fellow burst into sobs at this point, and an audible groaning sigh passed through the crowded court. After a minute's strugg'.e, Blunt recovered himself to some extont, and then, with bent head, he turned as though to walk out of the box. But his tortures were not over; ere he had taken a step he was recalled, and he started and winced as though cut with a whip when he was commanded to tell the judge and jury all he knew as to the movements of Lady Stanton on the day and evening of the murder. The young man's face was actually livid, but ho was entirely helpless, and in a few minutes all knew how" the lady of the house had stolen from it, with her face hidden by a thick black veil, a couple of hours before the shot in the wood, and how a few days previously she had been taken suddenly ill, and had had to retire'to bed, and that afterwards Sir Malcolm and he had noticed muddy footprints in the morning room, where she had been alone for some hours, as though someone had entered the room by the window from the garden, It was elicited, too, that on the discovery of the footprints Sir Malcolm had appeared much disturbed, and had gone up at once to his lady's room, but had been denied admittance by the maid, who'said that her mistress was too unwell to speak to him. At this point the witness collapsed altogether, and had to be carried fainting out of the court; but the case for the prosecution was closed, and now there was nothing but the speeches of counsel and the summing up of the judge. With awful rapidity this business was gone through. The counsel for the Crown was very temperate, merely stating the facts of'the case;'without enlarging on them; but the other side had a perfectly hopeless task. There was not a single weak point in the evidence; the animus between the murdered man and the accused could not be denied, and it was well known that the prisoner had openedly threatened the other's life should he again give him cause of offence.

The only circumstance in connection with the case which was not perfectly comprehensible was the statement of the witness William Blunt that his master bad been occupied in burning something before he left the house with the. revolver. The natural inference was that the prisoner was at that moment destroying something connected with tie terrible occurrences of the evening; but that after all could not be proved, and although it was difficult to account for his actions at this moment they did not in any way prove him innocent of the crime imputed to him.

At 3 o'clock the jury retired, and in less than a quarter of an hour returned, No one had the slightest hope, and the prisoner's countenance did ,not change a whit, though he drew himself to his full height and raised Ins head proudly as the foreman with trembling white lips pronounced the fatal word "Guilty." And when he was asked if he had anything to say his voice did not even tremble, as in low tones, bowing to the judge, he answered: " Nothing, my lord, except to thank, you .all for the consideration you have shown to a most unhappy man." "Think again," the other, persisted solemnly. "Is there nothing you can say? You pleaded not guilty to the charge." The prisoner's expiession was most dogged in its determination, as with erect bead he replied slowly and calmly: "I pleaded not guilty at the desire of my counsel. It was merely a form to satisfy him. I have no defence to offer. I have nothing to say for myself," With a heavy sigh, which was almost a. groan, the shocked judge remained motionless for a minute, and then, with an obvious effort rose, and took the horrible black cap in his hand. But the next instant a change came over his face. The door of the court had been opened noisily, and in a moment a breathless excitement had come oyer the crowded assemblage. There was a loud buzz of voices, a general movement, and a minute after the crowd parted, crushing each other violently back, and a woman, followed closely by a man, rushed up the narrow path.

Then for the first time, sinking on the chair in the dock,, the prisoner uttered a cry of agony, which was never forgotten by those who heard it, and leaning forward hid his quivering face. He had recognised her—all had recognised her. It was Lady Stanton who stood there, haggard and worn, with gleaming eyes and twitching lips, speechless and panting for breath, and at the sight the prisoner's manhood deserted him altogether. (To be continued.)