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nervous about it, are you?’

      ‘Nervous!’ He smiled grimly. ‘No; it was at my own request I received this brief. A breach of etiquette, you see’—with another heavy smile. ‘If she can be saved, I shall save her. Shall I tell you my defence?’

      ‘No, don’t; I would rather be taken by surprise. I don’t want to shine in this case, Heaven knows! Take every advantage I can fairly give you. I know you don’t expect more.’

      ‘Thank you,’ was the answer.

      There was a little pause, during which neither spoke. At last, returning to the only topic in either mind, Tressamer observed:

      ‘I have been deep in this ever since it occurred. I have been running up and down to Porthstone. I was at the inquest and in the police-court, but I thought it best to do nothing, and let the public think she was undefended. It may soften their feeling towards her. All these little things have to be thought of.’

      ‘Yes; don’t you remember that famous Shepherdsbury case? The man who acted for the prisoner—the solicitor, I think it was—made such a brilliant fight in the police-court that the magistrates hesitated to commit; but the result was that the Crown knew all about the defence, and when the real trial came, the man hadn’t a chance. Always reserve your defence.’

      ‘Yes; but you forget, the solicitor has got a splendid practice through it,’ was the bitter answer. ‘Few men in the West of England are doing better in that class of business. Did you know—but of course you didn’t—that I was down at Porthstone only two days before the thing happened?’

      ‘No; were you?’

      ‘Yes; and I was staying in Abertaff that very night. I intended coming up to town the first thing in the morning, but something detained me, and in a few hours the news arrived. So I went down at once, saw Eleanor at the police-station, and advised her what to do before any of those meddling Pollards got at her.’

      ‘Pollards? Why, they are briefing me for the prosecution!’

      ‘Yes, I know. Pollard conducted it in the police-court. At the inquest he represented that man Lewis, the nephew, and very bitter he was, too. But I made Eleanor choke him off before that. Wouldn’t have him at any price. I have got a quiet old chap in Abertaff now who won’t interfere—old Morgan.’

      ‘Do you know, I thought he was trying to press the case rather in my brief. This accounts for it. But what sort of a man is this Lewis?’

      ‘Oh, a big, coarse-looking fellow. Came back from Australia just before it happened. A brute! He’s egging on the Crown. She left him all her money—about twenty thousand—but the jewels are supposed to be worth nearly as much more, and he’s lost them, and so he’s savage.’

      ‘I say, George, I don’t know that I ought to say it, but has it occurred to you as at all curious that he should have returned the very night it was done?’

      A gleam of furtive joy crossed the other’s face, and instantly vanished again.

      ‘Has that struck you?’ he said, and seemed about to add something more. But he restrained himself, and merely added: ‘The less you and I talk about it the better, perhaps. Coming out?’

      And they left the chambers together.

      But though Tressamer ceased to discuss the subject with his friend, he could not dismiss it from his mind. The sparkling wit, the wild, extravagant humour, for which he had been famous, seemed to have withered up in the furnace of his terrible grief. He lunched with Prescott in almost dead silence, and as soon as it was over got up hurriedly and disappeared.

      He had truthfully described himself as having been deep in the case from its commencement. When the news of what had happened at Porthstone reached the town of Abertaff he was walking in the High Street alone. He saw the unusual excitement, and meeting an acquaintance, learned from him that Miss Lewis had been murdered.

      ‘And they say it was done by her companion, a girl named Owen,’ added the man.

      Tressamer turned white, gasped for breath, and cried out loudly:

      ‘It’s a lie! I swear she is innocent!’

      In another moment he had darted off to a cab-stand, and was on his way to the station.

      There he had one of those sickening waits for a train which are inevitable on such occasions. Twice he was on the point of ordering a special, but each time he restrained himself by the thought that by the time it was ready the ordinary train would be nearly due. He shunned the gloomy waiting-room, and strode up and down the narrow platform with swift, excited strides.

      The porters and newspaper-boys stared as he rushed to and fro, hardly heeding the piles of luggage with which railway servants seek to break the dull monotony of a platform promenade. There was French blood in Tressamer: short, dark, thick-necked, yet far from stout in figure, he possessed the strain of sombre passion which runs through the blood of the Celtic races. He could no more control himself in deference to the officials of Abertaff Station than a madman when his frenzy is on him can conceal it from his keepers.

      At last the train drew up. He sprang into a carriage, and impatiently endured the journey down to the seaside. Arrived there, he proceeded instantly to the police-station and demanded an interview with Miss Owen.

      At first there was some difficulty, but Tressamer was not to be checked.

      ‘I am her legal adviser,’ he announced. ‘I am a member of the Bar, and I consider it of vital importance that I should see the prisoner at once. If you refuse, I shall wire straight to the Home Office.’

      This threat produced its natural effect. The police, in doubt as to their powers, gave way, and he was taken into the cell where Eleanor had been secured.

      If Eleanor had not wept when she was accused of the terrible crime, neither was she weeping now. She was sitting in a dull, stony apathy, from which she was hardly aroused by the sound of the barrister’s familiar name. She looked up, it is true, and gazed at him with lack-lustre eyes. But she uttered no word.

      He, on his part, waited till the constable had withdrawn. Then he advanced a step from the door, and said:

      ‘Eleanor, you are innocent. Will you let me save you?’

      Then at last the light came into her eyes. Then at last the unnatural stiffness faded out of her frame. Then at last the awful coldness loosed its hold of her heart, and answering, ‘George, I do not deserve your help,’ she gave way to a tempest of tears.

      He waited till the storm had spent its first fury. Every shade of anguish passed across his face meanwhile. But he strove to master his feelings, and to put a commonplace expression into his voice, as he said at length:

      ‘I have been in Abertaff the last two days—since I left you.’ His voice trembled an instant, but he went on: ‘I heard the news this morning, and came down at once. I want to defend you. I want you to accept my services as a token that you still look on me as a friend, in spite of all that has happened.’

      ‘I don’t know how to answer you,’ she murmured. ‘The more generous you are, the more ashamed I feel. I ought not to take your help. And yet you are the only creature in the world who has not forsaken me.’

      ‘Don’t say that, Eleanor. No one else knows you as I do. No one else feels to you—— but I won’t say anything about that. One stipulation I must make. You are not to thank me—not one word.’

      And with a stern gesture he waved her off, as she made a movement as if to throw herself at his feet.

      ‘But you must forgive me,’ she said. ‘Whether I am as wicked as you told me I was when we parted or not, you must tell me that you take me for what I am, that you expect no change in me.’ She paused a moment, and then cried out with sudden vehemence: ‘Oh, I have done you injustice! I didn’t know how noble you could be! But it

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