Mr. Byrd, who up to this moment had shared in the interest every where

displayed in the defence, now felt his attention wandering. The fact is,

he had heard the whistle of the train on which Hickory had promised to

return to Sibley, and interesting as was the testimony given by the

witness, he could not prevent his eyes from continually turning toward

the door by which he expected Hickory to enter.

Strange to say, Mr. Orcutt seemed to take a like interest in that same

door, and was more than once detected by Byrd flashing a hurried glance

in its direction, as if he, too, were on the look-out for some one.

Meantime the expert in running was saying:

"It took me one hundred and twenty minutes to go over the ground the

first time, and one hundred and fifteen minutes the next. I gained five

minutes the second time, you see," he explained, "by knowing my ground

better and by saving my strength where it was of no avail to attempt

great speed. The last time I made the effort, however, I lost three

minutes on my former time. The wood road which I had to take for some

distance was deep with mud, and my feet sank with every step. The

shortest time, then, which I was able to make in three attempts, was one

hundred and fifteen minutes."

Now, as the time between the striking of the fatal blow and the hour at

which the prisoner arrived at the Quarry Station was only ninety

minutes, a general murmur of satisfaction followed this announcement. It

was only momentary, however, for Mr. Ferris, rising to cross-examine the

witness, curiosity prevailed over all lesser emotions, and an immediate

silence followed without the intervention of the Court.

"Did you make these three runs from Mrs. Clemmens' house to Monteith

Quarry Station entirely on foot?"

"I did, sir."

"Was that necessary?"

"Yes, sir; as far as the highway, at least. The path through the woods

is not wide enough for a horse, unless it be for that short distance

where the Foresters' Road intervenes."

"And you ran there?"

"Yes, sir, twice at full speed; the third time I had the experience I

have told you of."

"And how long do you think it took you to go over that especial portion

of ground?"

"Five minutes, maybe."

"And, supposing you had had a horse?"

"Well, sir, _if_ I had had a horse, and _if_ he had been waiting there,

all ready for me to jump on his back, and _if_ he had been a good

runner and used to the road, I think I could have gone over it in two

minutes, if I had not first broken my neck on some of the jagged stones

that roughen the road."

"In other words, you could have saved three minutes if you had been

furnished with a horse at that particular spot?"

"Yes, _if_."

Mr. Orcutt, whose eye had been fixed upon the door at this particular

juncture, now looked back at the witness and hurriedly rose to his feet.

"Has my esteemed friend any testimony on hand to prove that the prisoner

had a horse at this place? if he has not, I object to these questions."

"What testimony I have to produce will come in at its proper time,"

retorted Mr. Ferris. "Meanwhile, I think I have a right to put this or

any other kind of similar question to the witness."

The Judge acquiescing with a nod, Mr. Orcutt sat down.

Mr. Ferris went on.

"Did you meet any one on the road during any of these three runs which

you made?"

"No, sir. That is, I met no one in the woods. There were one or two

persons on the highway the last time I ran over it."

"Were they riding or walking?"

"Walking."

Here Mr. Orcutt interposed.

"Did you say that in passing over the highway you ran?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why did you do this? Had you not been told that the prisoner was seen

to be walking when he came down the road to the station?"

"Yes, sir. But I was in for time, you see."

"And you did not make it even with that advantage?"

"No, sir."

The second expert had the same story to tell, with a few variations. He

had made one of his runs in five minutes less than the other had done,

but it was by a great exertion that left him completely exhausted when

he arrived at the station. It was during his cross-examination that

Hickory at last came in.

Horace Byrd, who had been growing very impatient during the last few

minutes, happened to be looking at the door when it opened to admit this

late comer. So was Mr. Orcutt. But Byrd did not notice this, or Hickory

either. If they had, perhaps Hickory would have been more careful to

hide his feelings. As it was, he no sooner met his colleague's eye than

he gave a quick, despondent shake of the head in intimation that he had

_failed_.

Mr. Byrd, who had anticipated a different result, was greatly

disappointed. His countenance fell and he cast a glance of compassion

at Miss Dare, now flushing with a secret but slowly growing hope. The

defence, then, was good, and she ran the risk of being interrogated

again. It was a prospect from which Mr. Byrd recoiled.

As soon as Hickory got the chance, he made his way to the side of Byrd.

"No go," was his low but expressive salutation. "One hundred and five

minutes is the shortest time in which I can get over the ground, and

that by a deuced hard scramble of it too."

"But that's five minutes' gain on the experts," Byrd whispered.

"Is it? Hope I could gain something on them, but what's five minutes'

gain in an affair like this? Fifteen is what's wanted."

"I know it."

"And fifteen I cannot make, nor ten either, unless a pair of wings

should be given me to carry me over the river."

"Sure?"

"Sure!"

Here there was some commotion in their vicinity, owing to the withdrawal

of the last witness from the stand. Hickory took advantage of the bustle

to lean over and whisper in Byrd's ear:

"Do you know I think I have been watched to-day. There was a fellow

concealed in Mrs. Clemmens' house, who saw me leave it, and who, I have

no doubt, took express note of the time I started. And there was another

chap hanging round the station at the quarries, whom I am almost sure

had no business there unless it was to see at what moment I arrived. He

came back to Sibley when I did, but he telegraphed first, and it is my

opinion that Orcutt----"

Here he was greatly startled by hearing his name spoken in a loud and

commanding tone of voice. Stopping short, he glanced up, encountered the

eye of Mr. Orcutt fixed upon him from the other side of the court-room,

and realized he was being summoned to the witness stand.

"The deuce!" he murmured, with a look at Byrd to which none but an

artist could do justice.

XXXII.

HICKORY.

Hickory, dickory, dock!

The mouse ran up the clock!

The clock struck one,

And down he run!

Hickory, dickory, dock!

--MOTHER GOOSE MELODIES.

HICKORY'S face was no new one to the court. He had occupied a

considerable portion of one day in giving testimony for the prosecution,

and his rough manner and hardy face, twinkling, however, at times with

an irrepressible humor that redeemed it and him from all charge of

ugliness, were well known not only to the jury but to all the _habitues_

of the trial. Yet, when he stepped upon the stand at the summons of Mr.

Orcutt, every eye turned toward him with curiosity, so great was the

surprise with which his name had been hailed, and so vivid the interest

aroused in what a detective devoted to the cause of the prosecution

might have to say in the way of supporting the defence.

The first question uttered by Mr. Orcutt served to put them upon the

right track.

"Will you tell the court where you have been to-day, Mr. Hickory?"

"Well," replied the witness in a slow and ruminating tone of voice, as

he cast a look at Mr. Ferris, half apologetic and half reassuring, "I

have been in a good many places----"

"You know what I mean," interrupted Mr. Orcutt. "Tell the court where

you were between the hours of eleven and a quarter to one," he added,

with a quick glance at the paper he held in his hand.

"Oh, _then_," cried Hickory, suddenly relaxing into his drollest self.

"Well, _then_, I was all along the route from Sibley to Monteith Quarry

Station. I don't think I was stationary at any one minute of the time,

sir."

"In other words----" suggested Mr. Orcutt, severely.

"I was trying to show myself smarter than my betters;" bowing with a

great show of respect to the two experts who sat near. "_Or_, in other

words still, I was trying to make the distance between Mrs. Clemmens'

house and the station I have mentioned, in time sufficient to upset the

defence, sir."

And the look he cast at Mr. Ferris was wholly apologetic now.

"Ah, I understand, and at whose suggestion did you undertake to do this,

Mr. Hickory?"

"At the suggestion of a friend of mine, who is also somewhat of a

detective."

"And when was this suggestion given?"

"After your speech, sir, yesterday afternoon."

"And where?"

"At the hotel, sir, where I and my friend put up."

"Did not the counsel for the prosecution order you to make this

attempt?"

"No, sir."

"Did he not know you were going to make it?"

"No, sir."

"Who did know it?"

"My friend."

"No one else?"

"Well, sir, judging from my present position, I should say there seems

to have been some one else," the witness slyly retorted.

The calmness with which Mr. Orcutt carried on this examination suffered

a momentary disturbance.

"You know what I mean," he returned. "Did you tell any one but your

friend that you were going to undertake this run?"

"No, sir."

"Mr. Hickory," the lawyer now pursued, "will you tell us why you

considered yourself qualified to succeed in an attempt where you had

already been told regular experts had failed?"

"Well, sir, I don't know unless you find the solution in the slightly

presumptive character of my disposition."

"Had you ever run before or engaged in athletic sports of any kind?"

"Oh, yes, I have run before."

"And engaged in athletic sports?"

"Yes, sir."

"Mr. Hickory, have you ever run in a race with men of well-known

reputation for speed?"

"Well, yes, I have."

"Did you ever win in running such a race?"

"Once."

"No more?"

"Well, then, twice."

The dejection with which this last assent came forth roused the mirth of

some light-hearted, feather-headed people, but the officers of the court

soon put a stop to that.

"Mr. Hickory, will you tell us whether on account of having twice beaten

in a race requiring the qualifications of a professional runner, you

considered yourself qualified to judge of the feasibility of any other

man's making the distance from Mrs. Clemmens' house to Monteith Quarry

Station in ninety minutes by your own ability or non-ability to do so?"

"Yes, sir, I did; but a man's judgment of his own qualifications don't

go very far, I've been told."

"I did not ask you for any remarks, Mr. Hickory. This is a serious

matter and demands serious treatment. I asked if in undertaking to make

this run in ninety minutes you did not presume to judge of the

feasibility of the prisoner having made it in that time, and you

answered, 'Yes.' It was enough."

The witness bowed with an air of great innocence.

"Now," resumed the lawyer, "you say you made a run from Mrs. Clemmens'

house to Monteith Quarry Station to-day. Before telling us in what time

you did it, will you be kind enough to say what route you took?"

"The one, sir, which has been pointed out by the prosecution as that

which the prisoner undoubtedly took--the path through the woods and over

the bridge to the highway. I knew no other."

"Did you know _this_?"

"Yes, sir."

"How came you to know it?"

"I had been over it before."

"The whole distance?"

"Yes, sir."

"Mr. Hickory, were you well enough acquainted with the route not to be

obliged to stop at any point during your journey to see if you were in

the right path or taking the most direct road to your destination?"

"Yes, sir."

"And when you got to the river?"

"I turned straight to the right and made for the bridge."

"Did you not pause long enough to see if you could not cross the stream

in some way?"

"No, sir. I don't know how to swim in my clothes and keep them dry, and

as for my wings, I had unfortunately left them at home."

Mr. Orcutt frowned.

"These attempts at humor," said he, "are very _mal a propos_, Mr.

Hickory." Then, with a return to his usual tone: "Did you cross the

bridge at a run?"

"Yes, sir."

"And did you keep up your pace when you got to the highroad?"

"No, I did not."

"You did not?"

"No, sir."

"And why, may I ask?"

"I was tired."

"Tired?"

"Yes, sir."

There was a droll demureness in the way Hickory said this which made Mr.

Orcutt pause. But in another minute he went on.

"And what pace do you take when you are tired?"

"A horse's pace when I can get it," was the laughing reply. "A team was

going by, sir, and I just jumped up with the driver."

"Ah, you rode, then, part of the way? Was it a fast team, Mr. Hickory?"

"Well, it wasn't one of Bonner's."

"Did they go faster than a man could run?"

"Yes, sir, I am obliged to say they did."

"And how long did you ride behind them?"

"Till I got in sight of the station."

"Why did you not go farther?"

"Because I had been told the prisoner was seen to walk up to the

station, and I meant to be fair to him when I knew how."

"Oh, you did; and do you think it was fair to him to steal a ride on the

highway?"

"Yes, sir."

"And why?"

"Because no one has ever told me he didn't ride down the highway, at

least till he came within sight of the station."

"Mr. Hickory," inquired the lawyer, severely, "are you in possession of

any knowledge proving that he did?"

"No, sir."

Mr. Byrd, who had been watching the prisoner breathlessly through all

this, saw or thought he saw the faintest shadow of an odd, disdainful

smile cross his sternly composed features at this moment. But he could

not be sure. There was enough in the possibility, however, to make the

detective thoughtful; but Mr. Orcutt proceeding rapidly with his

examination, left him no time to formulate his sensations into words.

"So that by taking this wagon you are certain you lost no time?"

"Yes, sir."

"Rather gained some?"

"Yes, sir."

"Mr. Hickory, will you now state whether you put forth your full speed

to-day in going from Mrs. Clemmens' house to the Quarry Station?"

"I did not."

"What?"

"I did not put forth any thing like my full speed, sir," the witness

repeated, with a twinkle in the direction of Byrd that fell just short

of being a decided wink.

"And why, may I ask? What restrained you from running as fast as you

could? Sympathy for the defence?"

The ironical suggestion conveyed in this last question gave Hickory an

excuse for indulging in his peculiar humor.

"No, sir; sympathy for the prosecution. I feared the loss of one of its

most humble but valuable assistants. In other words, I was afraid I

should break my neck."

"And why should you have any special fears of breaking your neck?"

"The path is so uneven, sir. No man could run for much of the way

without endangering his life or at least his limbs."

"Did you run when you could?"

"Yes, sir."

"And in those places where you could not run, did you proceed as fast as

you knew how?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well; now I think it is time you told the jury just how many

minutes it took you to go from Mrs. Clemmens' door to the Monteith

Quarry Station."

"Well, sir, according to _my_ watch, it took one hundred and five

minutes."

Mr. Orcutt glanced impressively at the jury.

"One hundred and five minutes," he repeated. He then turned to the

witness with his concluding questions.

"Mr. Hickory, were you present in the court-room just now when the two

experts whom I have employed to make the run gave their testimony?"

"No, sir."

"Do you know in what time they made it?"

"I believe I do. I was told by the person whom I informed of my failure

that I had gained five minutes upon them."

"And what did you reply?"

"That I hoped I could make something on _them_; but that five minutes

wasn't much when a clean fifteen was wanted," returned Hickory, with

another droll look at the experts and an askance appeal at Byrd, which

being translated might read: "How in the deuce could this man have known

what I was whispering to you on the other side of the court-room? Is he

a wizard, this Orcutt?"

He forgot that a successful lawyer is always more or less of a wizard.

XXXIII.

A LATE DISCOVERY.

Oh, torture me no more, I will confess.--KING LEAR.

WITH the cross-examination of Hickory, the defence rested, and the day

being far advanced, the court adjourned.

During the bustle occasioned by the departure of the prisoner, Mr. Byrd

took occasion to glance at the faces of those most immediately concerned

in the trial.

His first look naturally fell upon Mr. Orcutt. Ah! all was going well

with the great lawyer. Hope, if not triumph, beamed in his eye and

breathed in every movement of his alert and nervous form. He was looking

across the court-room at Imogene Dare, and his features wore a faint

smile that indelibly impressed itself upon Mr. Byrd's memory. Perhaps

because there was something really peculiar and remarkable in its

expression, and perhaps because of the contrast it offered to his own

feelings of secret doubt and dread.

His next look naturally followed that of Mr. Orcutt and rested upon

Imogene Dare. Ah! she was under the spell of awakening hope also. It was

visible in her lightened brow, her calmer and less studied aspect, her

eager and eloquently speaking gaze yet lingering on the door through

which the prisoner had departed. As Mr. Byrd marked this look of hers

and noted all it revealed, he felt his emotions rise till they almost

confounded him. But strong as they were, they deepened still further

when, in another moment, he beheld her suddenly drop her eyes from the

door and turn them slowly, reluctantly but gratefully, upon Mr. Orcutt.

All the story of her life was in that change of look; all the story of

her future, too, perhaps, if---- Mr. Byrd dared not trust himself to

follow the contingency that lurked behind that _if_, and, to divert his

mind, turned his attention to Mr. Ferris.

But he found small comfort there. For the District Attorney was not

alone. Hickory stood at his side, and Hickory was whispering in his ear,

and Mr. Byrd, who knew what was weighing on his colleague's mind, found

no difficulty in interpreting the mingled expression of perplexity and

surprise that crossed the dark, aquiline features of the District

Attorney as he listened with slightly bended head to what the detective

had to say. That look and the deep, anxious frown which crossed his brow

as he glanced up and encountered Imogene's eye, remained in Mr. Byrd's

mind long after the court-room was empty and he had returned to his

hotel. It mingled with the smile of strange satisfaction which he had

detected on Mr. Orcutt's face, and awakened such a turmoil of

contradictory images in his mind that he was glad when Hickory at last

came in to break the spell.

Their meeting was singular, and revealed, as by a flash, the difference

between the two men. Byrd contented himself with giving Hickory a look

and saying nothing, while Hickory bestowed upon Byrd a hearty "Well, old

fellow!" and broke out into a loud and by no means unenjoyable laugh.

"You didn't expect to see me mounting the rostrum in favor of the

defence, did you?" he asked, after he had indulged himself as long as he

saw fit in the display of this somewhat unseasonable mirth. "Well, it

was a surprise. But I've done it for Orcutt now!"

"You have?"

"Yes, I have."

"But the prosecution has closed its case?"

"Bah! what of that?" was the careless reply. "The District Attorney can

get it reopened. No Court would refuse that."

Horace surveyed his colleague for a moment in silence.

"So Mr. Ferris was struck with the point you gave him?" he ventured, at

last.

"Well, sufficiently so to be uneasy," was Hickory's somewhat dry

response.

The look with which Byrd answered him was eloquent. "And that makes you

cheerful?" he inquired, with ill-concealed sarcasm.

"Well, it has a slight tendency that way," drawled the other, seemingly

careless of the other's expression, if, indeed, he had noted it. "You

see," he went on, with a meaning wink and a smile of utter unconcern,

"all my energies just now are concentrated on getting myself even with

that somewhat too wide-awake lawyer." And his smile broadened till it

merged into a laugh that was rasping enough to Byrd's more delicate and

generous sensibilities.

"Sufficiently so to be uneasy!" Yes, that was it. From the minute Mr.

Ferris listened to the suggestion that Miss Dare had not told all she

knew about the murder, and that a question relative to where she had

been at the time it was perpetrated would, in all probability, bring

strange revelations to light, he had been awakened to a most

uncomfortable sense of his position and the duty that was possibly

required of him. To be sure, the time for presenting testimony to the

court was passed, unless it was in the way of rebuttal; but how did he

know but what Miss Dare had a fact at her command which would help the

prosecution in overturning the strange, unexpected, yet simple theory of

the defence? At all events, he felt he ought to know whether, in giving

her testimony she had exhausted her knowledge on this subject, or

whether, in her sympathy for the accused, she had kept back certain

evidence which if presented might bring the crime more directly home to

the prisoner. Accordingly, somewhere toward eight o'clock in the

evening, he sought her out with the bold resolution of forcing her to

satisfy him on this point.

He did not find his task so easy, however, when he came into direct

contact with her stately and far from encouraging presence, and met the

look of surprise not unmixed with alarm with which she greeted him. She

looked very weary, too, and yet unnaturally excited, as if she had not

slept for many nights, if indeed she had rested at all since the trial

began. It struck him as cruel to further disturb this woman, and yet the

longer he surveyed her, the more he studied her pale, haughty,

inscrutable face, he became the more assured that he would never feel

satisfied with himself if he did not give her an immediate opportunity

to disperse at once and forever these freshly awakened doubts.

His attitude or possibly his expression must have betrayed something of

his anxiety if not of his resolve, for her countenance fell as she

watched him, and her voice sounded quite unnatural as she strove to ask

to what she was indebted for this unexpected visit.

He did not keep her in suspense.

"Miss Dare," said he, not without kindness, for he was very sorry for

this woman, despite the inevitable prejudice which her relations to the

accused had awakened, "I would have given much not to have been obliged

to disturb you to-night, but my duty would not allow it. There is a

question which I have hitherto omitted to ask----"

He paused, shocked; she was swaying from side to side before his eyes,

and seemed indeed about to fall. But at the outreaching of his hand she

recovered herself and stood erect, the noblest spectacle of a woman

triumphing over the weakness of her body by the mere force of her

indomitable will, that he had ever beheld.

"Sit down," he gently urged, pushing toward her a chair. "You have had a

hard and dreary week of it; you are in need of rest."

She did not refuse to avail herself of the chair, though, as he could

not help but notice, she did not thereby relax one iota of the restraint

she put upon herself.

"I do not understand," she murmured; "what question?"

"Miss Dare, in all you have told the court, in all that you have told

me, about this fatal and unhappy affair, you have never informed us how

it was you first came to hear of it. You were----"

"I heard it on the street corner," she interrupted, with what seemed to

him an almost feverish haste.

"First?"

"Yes, first."

"Miss Dare, had you been in the street long? Were you in it at the time

the murder happened, do you think?"

"I in the street?"

"Yes," he repeated, conscious from the sudden strange alteration in her

look that he had touched upon a point which, to her, was vital with some

undefined interest, possibly that to which the surmises of Hickory had

supplied a clue. "Were you in the street, or anywhere out-of-doors at

the time the murder occurred? It strikes me that it would be well for me

to know."

"Sir," she cried, rising in her sudden indignation, "I thought the time

for questions had passed. What means this sudden inquiry into a matter

we have all considered exhausted, certainly as far as I am concerned."

"Shall I show you?" he cried, taking her by the hand and leading her

toward the mirror near by, under one of those impulses which sometimes

effect so much. "Look in there at your own face and you will see why I

press this question upon you."

Astonished, if not awed, she followed with her eyes the direction of his

pointing finger, and anxiously surveyed her own image in the glass.

Then, with a quick movement, her hands went up before her face--which

till that moment had kept its counsel so well--and, tottering back

against a table, she stood for a moment communing with herself, and

possibly summoning up her courage for the conflict she evidently saw

before her.

"What is it you wish to know?" she faintly inquired, after a long period

of suspense and doubt.

"Where were you when the clock struck twelve on the day Mrs. Clemmens

was murdered?"

Instantly dropping her hands, she turned toward him with a sudden lift

of her majestic figure that was as imposing as it was unexpected.

"I was at Professor Darling's house," she declared, with great

steadiness.

Mr. Ferris had not expected this reply, and looked at her for an instant

almost as if he felt inclined to repeat his inquiry.

"Do you doubt my word?" she queried. "Is it possible you question my

truth at a time like this?"

"No, Miss Dare," he gravely assured her. "After the great sacrifice you

have publicly made in the interests of justice, it would be worse than

presumptuous in me to doubt your sincerity now."

She drew a deep breath, and straightened herself still more proudly.

"Then am I to understand you are satisfied with the answer you have

received?"

"Yes, if you will also add that you were in the observatory at Professor

Darling's house," he responded quickly, convinced there was some mystery

here, and seeing but one way to reach it.

"Very well, then, I was," she averred, without hesitation.

"You were!" he echoed, advancing upon her with a slight flush on his

middle-aged cheek, that evinced how difficult it was for him to pursue

this conversation in face of the haughty and repellant bearing she had

assumed. "You will, perhaps, tell me, then, why you did not see and

respond to the girl who came into that room at this very time, with a

message from a lady who waited below to see you?"

"Ah!" she cried, succumbing with a suppressed moan to the inexorable

destiny that pursued her in this man, "you have woven a net for me!"

And she sank again into a chair, where she sat like one stunned, looking

at him with a hollow gaze which filled his heart with compassion, but

which had no power to shake his purpose as a District Attorney.

"Yes," he acknowledged, after a moment, "I have woven a net for you, but

only because I am anxious for the truth, and desirous of furthering the

ends of justice. I am confident you know more about this crime than you

have ever revealed, Miss Dare; that you are acquainted with some fact

that makes you certain Mr. Mansell committed this murder,

notwithstanding the defence advanced in his favor. What is this fact? It

is my office to inquire. True," he admitted, seeing her draw back with

denial written on every line of her white face, "you have a right to

refuse to answer me here, but you will have no right to refuse to answer

me to-morrow when I put the same question to you in the presence of

judge and jury."

"And"--her voice was so husky he could but with difficulty distinguish

her words--"do you intend to recall me to the stand to-morrow?"

"I am obliged to, Miss Dare."

"But I thought the time for examination was over; that the witnesses had

all testified, and that nothing remained now but for the lawyers to sum

up."

"When in a case like this the prisoner offers a defence not anticipated

by the prosecution, the latter, of course, has the right to meet such

defence with proof in rebuttal."

"Proof in rebuttal? What is that?"

"Evidence to rebut or prove false the matters advanced in support of the

defence."

"Ah!"

"I must do it in this case--if I can, of course."

She did not reply.

"And even if the testimony I desire to put in is not rebuttal in its

character, no unbiassed judge would deny to counsel the privilege of

reopening his case when any new or important fact has come to light."

As if overwhelmed by a prospect she had not anticipated, she hurriedly

arose and pointed down the room to a curtained recess.

"Give me five minutes," she cried; "five minutes by myself where no one

can look at me, and where I can think undisturbed upon what I had better

do."

"Very well," he acquiesced; "you shall have them."

She at once crossed to the small retreat.

"Five minutes," she reiterated huskily, as she lifted the curtains

aside; "when the clock strikes nine I will come out."

"You will?" he repeated, doubtfully.

"I will."

The curtains fell behind her, and for five long minutes Mr. Ferris paced

the room alone. He was far from easy. All was so quiet behind that

curtain,--so preternaturally quiet. But he would not disturb her; no, he

had promised, and she should be left to fight her battle alone. When

nine o'clock struck, however, he started, and owned to himself some

secret dread. Would she come forth or would he have to seek her in her

place of seclusion? It seemed he would have to seek her, for the

curtains did not stir, and by no sound from within was any token given

that she had heard the summons. Yet he hesitated, and as he did so, a

thought struck him. Could it be there was any outlet from the refuge she

had sought? Had she taken advantage of his consideration to escape him?

Moved by the fear, he hastily crossed the room. But before he could lay

his hand upon the curtains, they parted, and disclosed the form of

Imogene.

"I am coming," she murmured, and stepped forth more like a

faintly-breathing image than a living woman.

His first glance at her face convinced him she had taken her resolution.

His second, that in taking it she had drifted into a state of feeling

different from any he had observed in her before, and of a sort that to

him was wholly inexplicable. Her words when she spoke only deepened this

impression.

[Illustration: "The curtains parted and disclosed the form of Imogene.

'I am coming,' she murmured, and stepped forth."--(Page 402.)]

"Mr. Ferris," said she, coming very near to him in evident dread of

being overheard, "I have decided to tell you all. I hoped never to be

obliged to do this. I thought enough had been revealed to answer your

purpose. I--I believed Heaven would spare me this last trial, let me

keep this last secret. It was of so strange a nature, so totally out of

the reach of any man's surmise. But the finger of God is on me. It has

followed this crime from the beginning, and there is no escape. By some

strange means, some instinct of penetration, perhaps, you have

discovered that I know something concerning this murder of which I have

never told you, and that the hour I spent at Professor Darling's is

accountable for this knowledge. Sir, I cannot struggle with Providence.

I will tell you all I have hitherto hidden from the world if you will

promise to let me know if my words will prove fatal, and if he--he who

is on trial for his life--will be lost if I give to the court my last

evidence against him?"

"But, Miss Dare," remonstrated the District Attorney, "no man can

tell----" He did not finish his sentence. Something in the feverish gaze

she fixed upon him stopped him. He felt that he could not palter with a

woman in the grasp of an agony like this. So, starting again, he

observed: "Let me hear what you have to say, and afterward we will

consider what the effect of it may be; though a question of expediency

should not come into your consideration, Miss Dare, in telling such

truths as the law demands."

"No?" she broke out, giving way for one instant to a low and terrible

laugh which curdled Mr. Ferris' blood and made him wish his duty had

led him into the midst of any other scene than this.

But before he could remonstrate with her, this harrowing expression of

misery had ceased, and she was saying in quiet and suppressed tones:

"The reason I did not see and respond to the girl who came into the

observatory on the morning of Mrs. Clemmens' murder is, that I was so

absorbed in the discoveries I was making behind the high rack which

shuts off one end of the room, that any appeal to me at that time must

have passed unnoticed. I had come to Professor Darling's house,

according to my usual custom on Tuesday mornings, to study astronomy

with his daughter Helen. I had come reluctantly, for my mind was full of

the secret intention I had formed of visiting Mrs. Clemmens in the

afternoon, and I had no heart for study. But finding Miss Darling out, I

felt a drawing toward the seclusion I knew I should find in the

observatory, and mounting to it, I sat down by myself to think. The rest

and quiet of the place were soothing to me, and I sat still a long time,

but suddenly becoming impressed with the idea that it was growing late,

I went to the window to consult the town-clock. But though its face

could be plainly seen from the observatory, its hands could not, and I

was about to withdraw from the window when I remembered the telescope,

which Miss Darling and I had, in a moment of caprice a few days before,

so arranged as to command a view of the town. Going to it, I peered

through it at the clock." Stopping, she surveyed the District Attorney

with breathless suspense. "It was just five minutes to twelve," she

impressively whispered.

Mr. Ferris felt a shock.

"A critical moment!" he exclaimed. Then, with a certain intuition of

what she was going to say next, inquired: "And what then, Miss Dare?"

"I was struck by a desire to see if I could detect Mrs. Clemmens' house

from where I was, and shifting the telescope slightly, I looked through

it again, and----"

"What did you see, Miss Dare?"

"I saw her dining-room door standing ajar and a man leaping headlong

over the fence toward the bog."

The District Attorney started, looked at her with growing interest, and

inquired:

"Did you recognize this man, Miss Dare?"

She nodded in great agitation.

"Who was he?"

"Craik Mansell."

"Miss Dare," ventured Mr. Ferris, after a moment, "you say this was five

minutes to twelve?"

"Yes, sir," was the faint reply.

"Five minutes later than the time designated by the defence as a period

manifestly too late for the prisoner to have left Mrs. Clemmens' house

and arrived at the Quarry Station at twenty minutes past one?"

"Yes," she repeated, below her breath.

The District Attorney surveyed her earnestly, perceiving she had not

only spoken the truth, but realized all which that truth implied, and

drew back a few steps muttering ironically to himself:

"Ah, Orcutt! Orcutt!"

Breathlessly she watched him, breathlessly she followed him step by step

like some white and haunting spirit.

"You believe, then, this fact will cost him his life?" came from her

lips at last.

"Don't ask me that, Miss Dare. You and I have no concern with the

consequences of this evidence."

"No concern?" she repeated, wildly. "You and I no concern? Ah!" she went

on, with heart-piercing sarcasm, "I forgot that the sentiments of the

heart have no place in judicial investigation. A criminal is but lawful

prey, and it is every good citizen's duty to push him to his doom. No

matter if one is bound to that criminal by the dearest ties which can

unite two hearts; no matter if the trust he has bestowed upon you has

been absolute and unquestioning, the law does not busy itself with that.

The law says if you have a word at your command which can destroy this

man, give utterance to it; and the law must be obeyed."

"But, Miss Dare----" the District Attorney hastily intervened, startled

by the feverish gleam of her hitherto calm eye.

But she was not to be stopped, now that her misery had at last found

words.

"You do not understand my position, perhaps," she continued. "You do not

see that it has been my hand, and mine only, which, from the first, has

slowly, remorselessly pushed this man back from the point of safety,

till now, now, I am called upon to drag from his hand the one poor

bending twig to which he clings, and upon which he relies to support him

above the terrible gulf that yawns at his feet. You do not see----"

"Pardon me," interposed Mr. Ferris again, anxious, if possible, to

restore her to herself. "I see enough to pity you profoundly. But you

must allow me to remark that your hand is not the only one which has

been instrumental in hurrying this young man to his doom. The

detectives----"

"Sir," she interrupted in her turn, "can you, dare you say, that without

my testimony he would have stood at any time in a really critical

position?--or that he would stand in jeopardy of his life even now, if

it were not for this fact I have to tell?"

Mr. Ferris was silent.

"Oh, I knew it, I knew it!" she cried. "There will be no doubt

concerning whose testimony it was that convicted him, if he is sentenced

by the court for this crime. Ah, ah, what an enviable position is mine!

What an honorable deed I am called upon to perform! To tell the truth at

the expense of the life most dear to you. It is a Roman virtue! I shall

be held up as a model to my sex. All the world must shower plaudits upon

the woman who, sooner than rob justice of its due, delivered her own

lover over to the hangman."

Pausing in her passionate burst, she turned her hot, dry eyes in a sort

of desperation upon his face.

"Do you know," she gurgled in his ear, "some women would kill themselves

before they would do this deed."

Struck to his heart in spite of himself, Mr. Ferris looked at her in

alarm--saw her standing there with her arms hanging down at her sides,

but with her two hands clinched till they looked as if carved from

marble--and drew near to her with the simple hurried question of:

"But you?"

"I?" she laughed again--a low, gurgling laugh, that yet had a tone in it

that went to the other's heart and awoke strange sensations there. "Oh,

I shall live to respond to your questions. Do not fear that I shall not

be in the court-room to-morrow."

There was something in her look and manner that was new. It awed him,

while it woke all his latent concern.

"Miss Dare," he began, "you can believe how painful all this has been to

me, and how I would have spared you this misery if I could. But the

responsibilities resting upon me are such----"

He did not go on; why should he? She was not listening. To be sure, she

stood before him, seemingly attentive, but the eyes with which she met

his were fixed upon other objects than any which could have been

apparent to her in his face; and her form, which she had hitherto held

upright, was shaking with long, uncontrollable shudders, which, to his

excited imagination, threatened to lay her at his feet.

He at once started toward the door for help. But she was alive to his

movements if not to his words. Stopping him with a gesture, she cried:

"No--no! do not call for any one; I wish to be alone; I have _my_ duty

to face, you know; my testimony to prepare." And rousing herself she

cast a peculiar look about the room, like one suddenly introduced into a

strange place, and then moving slowly toward the window, threw back the

curtain and gazed without. "Night!" she murmured, "night!" and after a

moment added, in a deep, unearthly voice that thrilled irresistibly upon

Mr. Ferris' ear: "And a heaven full of stars!"

Her face, as she turned it upward, wore so strange a look, Mr. Ferris

involuntarily left his position and crossed to her side. She was still

murmuring to herself in seeming unconsciousness of his presence.

"Stars!" she was repeating; "and above them God!" And the long shudders

shook her frame again, and she dropped her head and seemed about to fall

into her old abstraction when her eye encountered that of the District

Attorney, and she hurriedly aroused herself.

"Pardon me," she exclaimed, with an ill-concealed irony, particularly

impressive after her tone of the moment before, "have you any thing

further to exact of me?"

"No," he made haste to reply; "only before I go I would entreat you to

be calm----"

"And say the word I have to say to-morrow without a balk and without an

unnecessary display of feeling," she coldly interpolated. "Thanks, Mr.

Ferris, I understand you. But you need fear nothing from me. There will

be no scene--at least on my part--when I rise before the court to give

my testimony to-morrow. Since my hand must strike the fatal blow, it

shall strike--firmly!" and her clenched fist fell heavily on her own

breast, as if the blow she meditated must first strike there.

The District Attorney, more moved than he had deemed it possible for him

to be, made her a low bow and withdrew slowly to the door.

"I leave you, then, till to-morrow," he said.

"Till to-morrow."

Long after he had passed out, the deep meaning which informed those two

words haunted his memory and disturbed his heart. Till to-morrow! Alas,

poor girl! and after to-morrow, what then?

XXXIV.

WHAT WAS HID BEHIND IMOGENE'S VEIL.

Mark now, how a plain tale shall put you down.--HENRY IV.

THE few minutes that elapsed before the formal opening of court the next

morning were marked by great cheerfulness. The crisp frosty air had put

everybody in a good-humor. Even the prisoner looked less sombre than

before, and for the first time since the beginning of his trial, deigned

to turn his eyes toward the bench where Imogene sat, with a look that,

while it was not exactly kind, had certainly less disdain in it than

before he saw his way to a possible acquittal on the theory advanced by

his counsel.

But this look, though his first, did not prove to be his last. Something

in the attitude of the woman he gazed at--or was it the mystery of the

heavy black veil that enveloped her features?--woke a strange doubt in

his mind. Beckoning to Mr. Orcutt, he communicated with him in a low

tone.

"Can it be possible," asked he, "that any thing new could have

transpired since last night to give encouragement to the prosecution?"

The lawyer, startled, glanced hastily about him and shook his head.

"No," he cried; "impossible! What could have transpired?"

"Look at Mr. Ferris," whispered the prisoner, "and then at the witness

who wears a veil."

With an unaccountable feeling of reluctance, Mr. Orcutt hastily

complied. His first glance at the District Attorney made him thoughtful.

He recognized the look which his opponent wore; he had seen it many a

time before this, and knew what it indicated. As for Imogene, who could

tell what went on in that determined breast? The close black veil

revealed nothing. Mr. Orcutt impatiently turned back to his client.

"I think you alarm yourself unnecessarily," he whispered. "Ferris means

to fight, but what of that? He wouldn't be fit for his position if he

didn't struggle to the last gasp even for a failing cause."

Yet in saying this his lip took its sternest line, and from the glitter

of his eye and the close contraction of his brow it looked as if he were

polishing his own weapons for the conflict he thus unexpectedly saw

before him.

Meantime, across the court-room, another whispered conference was going

on.

"Hickory, where have you been ever since last night? I have not been

able to find you anywhere."

"I was on duty; I had a bird to look after."

"A bird?"

"Yes, a wild bird; one who is none too fond of its cage; a desperate one

who might find means to force aside its bars and fly away."

"What do you mean, Hickory? What nonsense is this?"

"Look at Miss Dare and perhaps you will understand."

"Miss Dare?"

"Yes."

Horace's eyes opened in secret alarm.

"Do you mean----"

"I mean that I spent the whole night in tramping up and down in front of

her window. And a dismal task it was too. Her lamp burned till

daylight."

Here the court was called to order and Byrd had only opportunity to ask:

"Why does she wear a veil?"

To which the other whisperingly retorted:

"Why did she spend the whole night in packing up her worldly goods and

writing a letter to the Congregational minister to be sent after the

adjournment of court to-day?"

"Did she do that?"

"She did."

"Hickory, don't _you_ know--haven't you been told what she is expected

to say or do here to-day?"

"No."

"You only guess?"

"No, I don't guess."

"You fear, then?"

"Fear! Well, that's a big word to a fellow like me. I don't know as I

fear any thing; I'm curious, that is all."

Mr. Byrd drew back, looked over at Imogene, and involuntarily shook his

head. What was in the mind of this mysterious woman? What direful

purpose or shadow of doom lay behind the veil that separated her from

the curiosity and perhaps the sympathy of the surrounding crowd? It was

in vain to question; he could only wait in secret anxiety for the

revelations which the next few minutes might bring.

The defence having rested the night before, the first action of the

Judge on the opening of the court was to demand whether the prosecution

had any rebuttal testimony to offer.

Mr. Ferris instantly rose.

"Miss Dare, will you retake the stand," said he.

Immediately Mr. Orcutt, who up to the last moment had felt his case as

secure as if it had indeed been founded on a rock, bounded to his feet,

white as the witness herself.

"I object!" he cried. "The witness thus recalled by the counsel of the

prosecution has had ample opportunity to lay before the court all the

evidence in her possession. I submit it to the court whether my learned

opponent should not have exhausted his witness before he rested his

case."

"Mr. Ferris," asked the Judge, turning to the District Attorney, "do you

recall this witness for the purpose of introducing fresh testimony in

support of your case or merely to disprove the defence?"

"Your honor," was the District Attorney's reply, "I ought to say in

fairness to my adversary and to the court, that since the case was

closed a fact has come to my knowledge of so startling and conclusive a

nature that I feel bound to lay it before the jury. From this witness

alone can we hope to glean this fact; and as I had no information on

which to base a question concerning it in her former examination, I beg

the privilege of reopening my case to that extent."

"Then the evidence you desire to submit is not in rebuttal?" queried the

Judge.

"I do not like to say that," rejoined the District Attorney, adroitly.

"I think it may bear directly upon the question whether the prisoner

could catch the train at Monteith Quarry if he left the widow's house

after the murder. If the evidence I am about to offer be true, he

certainly could."

Thoroughly alarmed now and filled with the dismay which a mysterious

threat is always calculated to produce, Mr. Orcutt darted a wild look of

inquiry at Imogene, and finding her immovable behind her thick veil,

turned about and confronted the District Attorney with a most sarcastic

smile upon his blanched and trembling lips.

"Does my learned friend suppose the court will receive any such

ambiguous explanation as this? If the testimony sought from this witness

is by way of rebuttal, let him say so; but if it is not, let him be

frank enough to admit it, that I may in turn present my objections to

the introduction of any irrelevant evidence at this time."

"The testimony I propose to present through this witness _is_ in the way

of rebuttal," returned Mr Ferris, severely. "The argument advanced by

the defence, that the prisoner could not have left Mrs. Clemmens' house

at ten minutes before twelve and arrived at Monteith Quarry Station at

twenty minutes past one, is not a tenable one, and I purpose to prove it

by this witness."

Mr. Orcutt's look of anxiety changed to one of mingled amazement and

incredulity.

"By _this_ witness! You have chosen a peculiar one for the purpose," he

ironically exclaimed, more and more shaken from his self-possession by

the quiet bearing of his opponent, and the silent air of waiting which

marked the stately figure of her whom, as he had hitherto believed, he

thoroughly comprehended. "Your Honor," he continued, "I withdraw my

objections; I should really like to hear how Miss Dare or any lady can

give evidence on this point."

And he sank back into his seat with a look at his client in which

professional bravado strangely struggled with something even deeper than

alarm.

"This must be an exciting moment to the prisoner," whispered Hickory to

Byrd.

"So, so. But mark his control, will you? He is less cut up than Orcutt."

"Look at his eyes, though. If any thing could pierce that veil of hers,

you would think such a glance might."

"Ah, he is trying his influence over her at last."

"But it is too late."

Meantime the District Attorney had signified again to Miss Dare his

desire that she should take the stand. Slowly, and like a person in a

dream, she arose, unloosed her veil, dragged it from before her set

features, and stepped mechanically forward to the place assigned her.

What was there in the face thus revealed that called down an

instantaneous silence upon the court, and made the momentary pause that

ensued memorable in the minds of all present? It was not that she was so

pale, though her close-fitting black dress, totally unrelieved by any

suspicion of white, was of a kind to bring out any startling change in

her complexion; nor was there visible in her bearing any trace of the

feverish excitement which had characterized it the evening before; yet

of all the eyes that were fixed upon her--and there were many in that

crowd whose only look a moment before had been one of heartless

curiosity--there were none which were not filled with compassion and

more or less dread.

Meanwhile, she remained like a statue on the spot where she had taken

her stand, and her eyes, which in her former examination had met the

court with the unflinching gaze of an automaton, were lowered till the

lashes swept her cheek.

"Miss Dare," asked the District Attorney, as soon as he could recover

from his own secret emotions of pity and regret, "will you tell us where

you were at the hour of noon on the morning Mrs. Clemmens was murdered?"

Before she could answer, before in fact her stiff and icy lips could

part, Mr. Orcutt had risen impetuously to his feet, like a man bound to

contend every step of the way with the unknown danger that menaced him.

"I object!" he cried, in the changed voice of a deeply disturbed man,

while those who had an interest in the prisoner at this juncture, could

not but notice that he, too, showed signs of suppressed feeling, and for

the first time since the beginning of the trial, absolutely found his

self-command insufficient to keep down the rush of color that swept up

to his swarthy cheek.

"The question," continued Mr. Orcutt, "is not to elicit testimony in

rebuttal."

"Will my learned friend allow the witness to give her answer, instead of

assuming what it is to be?"

"I will not," retorted his adversary. "A child could see that such a

question is not admissible at this stage of the case."

"I am sure my learned friend would not wish me to associate _him_ with

any such type of inexperience?" suggested Mr. Ferris, grimly.

But the sarcasm, which at one time would have called forth a stinging

retort from Mr. Orcutt, passed unheeded. The great lawyer was fighting

for his life, for his heart's life, for the love and hand of Imogene--a

recompense which at this moment her own unconsidered action, or the

constraining power of a conscience of whose might he had already

received such heart-rending manifestation, seemed about to snatch from

his grasp forever. Turning to the Judge, he said:

"I will not delay the case by bandying words with my esteemed friend,

but appeal at once to the Court as to whether the whereabouts of Miss

Dare on that fatal morning can have any thing to do with the defence we

have proved."

"Your Honor," commenced the District Attorney, calmly following the lead

of his adversary, "I am ready to stake my reputation on the declaration

that this witness is in possession of a fact that overturns the whole

fabric of the defence. If the particular question I have made use of, in

my endeavor to elicit this fact, is displeasing to my friend, I will

venture upon another less ambiguous, if more direct and perhaps

leading." And turning again to the witness, Mr. Ferris calmly inquired:

"Did you or did you not see the prisoner on the morning of the assault,

at a time distinctly known by you to be after ten minutes to twelve?"

It was out. The line of attack meditated by Mr. Ferris was patent to

everybody. A murmur of surprise and interest swept through the

court-room, while Mr. Orcutt, who in spite of his vague fears was any

thing but prepared for a thrust of this vital nature, started and cast

short demanding looks from Imogene to Mansell, as if he would ask them

what fact this was which through ignorance or presumption they had

conspired to keep from him. The startled look which he surprised on the

stern face of the prisoner, showed him there was every thing to fear in

her reply, and bounding again to his feet, he was about to make some

further attempt to stave off the impending calamity, when the rich voice

of Imogene was heard saying:

"Gentlemen, if you will allow me to tell my story unhindered, I think I

shall soonest satisfy both the District Attorney and the counsel for the

prisoner."

And raising her eyes with a slow and heavy movement from the floor, she

fixed them in a meaning way upon the latter.

At once convinced that he had been unnecessarily alarmed, Mr. Orcutt

sank back into his seat, and Imogene slowly proceeded.

She commenced in a forced tone and with a sudden quick shudder that made

her words come hesitatingly and with strange breaks: "I have been

asked--two questions by Mr. Ferris--I prefer--to answer the first. He

asked me--where I was at the hour Mrs. Clemmens was murdered."

She paused so long one had time to count her breaths as they came in

gasps to her white lips.

"I have no further desire to hide from you the truth. I was with Mrs.

Clemmens in her own house."

At this acknowledgment so astonishing, and besides so totally different

from the one he had been led to expect, Mr. Ferris started as if a

thunder-bolt had fallen at his feet.

"In Mrs. Clemmens' house!" he repeated, amid the excited hum of a

hundred murmuring voices. "Did you say, in Mrs. Clemmens' house?"

"Yes," she returned, with a wild, ironical smile that at once assured

Mr. Ferris of his helplessness. "I am on oath _now_, and I assert that

on the day and at the hour Mrs. Clemmens was murdered, I was in her

house and in her dining-room. I had come there secretly," she proceeded,

with a sudden feverish fluency that robbed Mr. Ferris of speech, and in

fact held all her auditors spell-bound. "I had been spending an hour or

so at Professor Darling's, whose house in West Side is, as many here

know, at the very end of Summer Avenue, and close to the woods that run

along back of Mrs. Clemmens' cottage. I had been sitting alone in the

observatory, which is at the top of one of the towers, but being

suddenly seized with a desire to see the widow and make that promised

attempt at persuading her to reconsider her decision in regard to the

money her--her--the prisoner wanted, I came down, and unknown to any

one in the house, stole away to the woods and so to the widow's

cottage. It was noon when I got there, or very near it, for her company,

if she had had any, was gone, and she was engaged in setting the clock

where----"

Why did she pause? The District Attorney, utterly stupefied by his

surprise, had made no sign; neither had Mr. Orcutt. Indeed, it looked as

if the latter could not have moved, much less spoken, even if he had

desired it. Thought, feeling, life itself, seemed to be at a standstill

within him as he sat with a face like clay, waiting for words whose

import he perhaps saw foreshadowed in her wild and terrible mien. But

though his aspect was enough to stop her, it was not upon him she was

gazing when the words tripped on her lips. It was upon the prisoner, on

the man who up to this time had borne himself with such iron-like

composure and reserve, but who now, with every sign of feeling and

alarm, had started forward and stood surveying her, with his hand

uplifted in the authoritative manner of a master.

The next instant he sank back, feeling the eye of the Judge upon him;

but the signal had been made, and many in that court-room looked to see

Imogene falter or break down. But she, although fascinated, perhaps

moved, by this hint of feeling from one who had hitherto met all the

exigencies of the hour with a steady and firm composure, did not

continue silent at his bidding. On the contrary, her purpose, whatever

it was, seemed to acquire new force, for turning from him with a

strange, unearthly glare on her face, she fixed her glances on the jury

and went steadily on.

"I have said," she began, "that Mrs. Clemmens was winding her clock.

When I came in she stepped down, and a short and angry colloquy

commenced between us. She did not like my coming there. She did not

appreciate my interest in her nephew. She made me furious, frenzied,

mad. I--I turned away--then I came back. She was standing with her face

lifted toward her clock, as though she no longer heeded or remembered my

presence. I--I don't know what came to me; whether it was hatred or love

that maddened my brain--but----"

She did not finish; she did not need to. The look she gave, the attitude

she took, the appalling gesture which she made, supplied the place of

language. In an instant Mr. Ferris, Mr. Orcutt, all the many and

confused spectators who hung upon her words as if spell-bound, realized

that instead of giving evidence inculpating the prisoner, she was giving

evidence _accusing_ herself; that, in other words, Imogene Dare, goaded

to madness by the fearful alternative of either destroying her lover or

sacrificing herself, had yielded to the claims of her love or her

conscience, and in hearing of judge and jury, proclaimed herself to be

the murderess of Mrs. Clemmens.

The moment that followed was frightful. The prisoner, who was probably

the only man present who foresaw her intention when she began to speak,

had sunk back into his seat and covered his face with his hands long

before she reached the fatal declaration. But the spectacle presented

by Mr. Orcutt was enough, as with eyes dilated and lips half parted in

consternation, he stood before them a victim of overwhelming emotion; so

overcome, indeed, as scarcely to be able to give vent to the one low and

memorable cry that involuntarily left his lips as the full realization

of what she had done smote home to his stricken breast.

As for Mr. Ferris, he stood dumb, absolutely robbed of speech by this

ghastly confession he had unwillingly called from his witness' lips;

while slowly from end to end of that court-room the wave of horror

spread, till Imogene, her cause, and that of the wretched prisoner

himself, seemed swallowed up in one fearful tide of unreality and

nightmare.

The first gleam of relief came from the Judge.

"Miss Dare," said he, in his slow, kindly way that nothing could impair,

"do you realize the nature of the evidence you have given to the court?"

Her slowly falling head and white face, from which all the fearful

excitement was slowly ebbing in a dead despair, gave answer for her.

"I fear that you are not in a condition to realize the effect of your

words," the Judge went on. "Sympathy for the prisoner or the excitement

of being recalled to the stand has unnerved or confused you. Take time,

Miss Dare, the court will wait; reconsider your words, and then tell us

the truth about this matter."

But Imogene, with white lips and drooped head, answered hurriedly:

"I have nothing to consider. I have told, or attempted to tell, how Mrs.

Clemmens came to her death. She was struck down by me; Craik Mansell

there is innocent."

At this repetition in words of what she had before merely intimated by a

gesture, the Judge ceased his questions, and the horror of the multitude

found vent in one long, low, but irrepressible murmur. Taking advantage

of the momentary disturbance, Byrd turned to his colleague with the

agitated inquiry:

"Hickory, is _this_ what you have had in your mind for the last few

days?"

"This," repeated the other, with an air of careful consideration,

assumed, as Byrd thought, to conceal any emotion which he might have

felt; "no, no, not really. I--I don't know what I thought. Not this

though." And he fixed his eyes upon Imogene's fallen countenance, with

an expression of mingled doubt and wonder, as baffling in its nature as

the tone of voice he had used.

"But," stammered Byrd, with an earnestness that almost partook of the

nature of pleading, "she is not speaking the truth, of course. What we

heard her say in the hut----"

"Hush!" interposed the other, with a significant gesture and a sudden

glance toward the prisoner and his counsel; "watching is better than

talking just now. Besides, Orcutt is going to speak."

It was so. After a short and violent conflict with the almost

overwhelming emotions that had crushed upon him with the words and

actions of Imogene, the great lawyer had summoned up sufficient control

over himself to reassume the duties of his position and face once more

the expectant crowd, and the startled, if not thoroughly benumbed, jury.

His first words had the well-known ring, and, like a puff of cool air

through a heated atmosphere, at once restored the court-room to its

usual condition of formality and restraint.

"This is not evidence, but the raving of frenzy," he said, in

impassioned tones. "The witness has been tortured by the demands of the

prosecution, till she is no longer responsible for her words." And

turning toward the District Attorney, who, at the first sound of his

adversary's voice, had roused himself from the stupor into which he had

been thrown by the fearful and unexpected turn which Imogene's

confession had taken, he continued: "If my learned friend is not lost to

all feelings of humanity, he will withdraw from the stand a witness

laboring under a mental aberration of so serious a nature."

Mr. Ferris was an irritable man, but he was touched with sympathy for

his friend, reeling under so heavy a blow. He therefore forbore to

notice this taunt save by a low bow, but turned at once to the Judge.

"Your Honor," said he, "I desire to be understood by the Court, that

the statement which has just been made in your hearing by this witness,

is as much of a surprise to me as to any one in this court-room. The

fact which I proposed to elicit from her testimony was of an entirely

different nature. In the conversation which we held last night----"

But Mr. Orcutt, vacillating between his powerful concern for Imogene,

and his duty to his client, would not allow the other to proceed.

"I object," said he, "to any attempt at influencing the jury by the

statement of any conversation which may have passed between the District

Attorney and the witness. From its effects we may judge something of its

nature, but with its details we have nothing to do."

And raising his voice till it filled the room like a clarion, Mr. Orcutt

said:

"The moment is too serious for wrangling. A spectacle, the most terrible

that can be presented to the eyes of man, is before you. A young,

beautiful, and hitherto honored woman, caught in the jaws of a cruel

fate and urged on by the emotions of her sex, which turn ever toward

self-sacrifice, has, in a moment of mistaken zeal or frantic terror,

allowed herself to utter words which sound like a criminal confession.

May it please your Honor and Gentlemen of the Jury, this is an act to

awaken compassion in the breast of every true man. Neither my client nor

myself can regard it in any other light. Though his case were ten times

more critical than it is, and condemnation awaited him at your hands

instead of a triumphant acquittal, he is not the man I believe him, if

he would consent to accept a deliverance founded upon utterances so

manifestly frenzied and devoid of truth. I therefore repeat the

objection I have before urged. I ask your Honor now to strike out all

this testimony as irrelevant in rebuttal, and I beg our learned friend

to close an examination as unprofitable to his own cause as to mine."

"I agree with my friend," returned Mr. Ferris, "that the moment is one

unfit for controversy. If it please the Court, therefore, I will

withdraw the witness, though by so doing I am forced to yield all hope

of eliciting the important fact I had relied upon to rebut the defence."

And obedient to the bow of acquiescence he received from the Judge, the

District Attorney turned to Miss Dare and considerately requested her to

leave the stand.

But she, roused by the sound of her name perhaps, looked up, and meeting

the eye of the Judge, said:

"Pardon me, your Honor, but I do not desire to leave the stand till I

have made clear to all who hear me that it is I, not the prisoner, who

am responsible for Mrs. Clemmens' death. The agony which I have been

forced to undergo in giving testimony against him, has earned me the

right to say the words that prove his innocence and my own guilt."

"But," said the Judge, "we do not consider you in any condition to give

testimony in court to-day, even against yourself. If what you say is

true, you shall have ample opportunities hereafter to confirm and

establish your statements, for you must know, Miss Dare, that no

confession of this nature will be considered sufficient without

testimony corroborative of its truth."

"But, your Honor," she returned, with a dreadful calmness, "I have

corroborative testimony." And amid the startled looks of all present,

she raised her hand and pointed with steady forefinger at the astounded

and by-no-means gratified Hickory. "Let that man be recalled," she

cried, "and asked to repeat the conversation he had with a young

servant-girl called Roxana, in Professor Darling's observatory some ten

weeks ago."

The suddenness of her action, the calm assurance with which it was made,

together with the intention it evinced of summoning actual evidence to

substantiate her confession, almost took away the breath of the

assembled multitude. Even Mr. Orcutt seemed shaken by it, and stood

looking from the outstretched hand of this woman he so adored, to the

abashed countenance of the rough detective, with a wonder that for the

first time betrayed the presence of alarm. Indeed, to him as to others,

the moment was fuller of horror than when she made her first

self-accusation, for what at that time partook of the vagueness of a

dream, seemed to be acquiring the substance of an awful reality.

Imogene alone remained unmoved. Still with her eyes fixed on Hickory,

she continued:

"He has not told you all he knows about this matter, any more than I. If

my word needs corroboration, look to him."

And taking advantage of the sensation which this last appeal occasioned,

she waited where she was for the Judge to speak, with all the calmness

of one who has nothing more to fear or hope for in this world.

But the Judge sat aghast at this spectacle of youth and beauty insisting

upon its own guilt, and neither Mr. Ferris nor Mr. Orcutt having words

for this emergency, a silence, deep as the feeling which had been

aroused, gradually settled over the whole court. It was fast becoming

oppressive, when suddenly a voice, low but firm, and endowed with a

strange power to awake and hold the attention, was heard speaking in

that quarter of the room whence Mr. Orcutt's commanding tones had so

often issued. It was an unknown voice, and for a minute a doubt seemed

to rest upon the assembled crowd as to whom it belonged.

But the change that had come into Imogene's face, as well as the

character of the words that were uttered, soon convinced them it was the

prisoner himself. With a start, every one turned in the direction of the

dock. The sight that met their eyes seemed a fit culmination of the

scene through which they had just passed. Erect, noble, as commanding in

appearance and address as the woman who still held her place on the

witness stand, Craik Mansell faced the judge and jury with a quiet,

resolute, but courteous assurance, that seemed at once to rob him of

the character of a criminal, and set him on a par with the able and

honorable men by whom he was surrounded. Yet his words were not those of

a belied man, nor was his plea one of innocence.

"I ask pardon," he was saying, "for addressing the court directly; first

of all, the pardon of my counsel, whose ability has never been so

conspicuous as in this case, and whose just resentment, if he were less

magnanimous and noble, I feel I am now about to incur."

Mr. Orcutt turned to him a look of surprise and severity, but the

prisoner saw nothing but the face of the Judge, and continued:

"I would have remained silent if the disposition which your Honor and

the District Attorney proposed to make of this last testimony were not

in danger of reconsideration from the appeal which the witness has just

made. I believe, with you, that her testimony should be disregarded. I

intend, if I have the power, that it shall be disregarded."

The Judge held up his hand, as if to warn the prisoner and was about to

speak.

"I entreat that I may be heard," said Mansell, with the utmost calmness.

"I beg the Court not to imagine that I am about to imitate the witness

in any sudden or ill-considered attempt at a confession. All I intend is

that her self-accusation shall not derive strength or importance from

any doubts of my guilt which may spring from the defence which has been

interposed in my behalf."

Mr. Orcutt, who, from the moment the prisoner began to speak, had given

evidences of a great indecision as to whether he should allow his client

to continue or not, started at these words, so unmistakably pointing

toward a demolishment of his whole case, and hurriedly rose. But a

glance at Imogene seemed to awaken a new train of thought, and he as

hurriedly reseated himself.

The prisoner, seeing he had nothing to fear from his counsel's

interference, and meeting with no rebuke from the Judge, went calmly on:

"Yesterday I felt differently in regard to this matter. If I could be

saved from my fate by a defence seemingly so impregnable, I was willing

to be so saved, but to-day I would be a coward and a disgrace to my sex

if, in face of the generous action of this woman, I allowed a falsehood

of whatever description to place her in peril, or to stand between me

and the doom that probably awaits me. Sir," he continued, turning for

the first time to Mr. Orcutt, with a gesture of profound respect, "you

had been told that the path from Mrs. Clemmens' house to the bridge, and

so on to Monteith Quarry Station, could not be traversed in ninety

minutes, and you believed it. You were not wrong. It cannot be gone over

in that time. But I now say to your Honor and to the jury, that the

distance from my aunt's house to the Quarry Station can be made in that

number of minutes if a way can be found to cross the river without

going around by the bridge. I know," he proceeded, as a torrent of

muttered exclamations rose on his ear, foremost among which was that of

the much-discomfited Hickory, "that to many of you, to all of you,

perhaps, all means for doing this seem to be lacking to the chance

wayfarer, but if there were a lumberman here, he would tell you that the

logs which are frequently floated down this stream to the station afford

an easy means of passage to one accustomed to ride them, as I have been

when a lad, during the year I spent in the Maine woods. At all events,

it was upon a log that happened to be lodged against the banks, and

which I pushed out into the stream by means of the 'pivy' or long spiked

pole which I found lying in the grass at its side, that I crossed the

river on that fatal day; and if the detective, who has already made such

an effort to controvert the defence, will risk an attempt at this

expedient for cutting short his route, I have no doubt he will be able

to show you that a man can pass from Mrs. Clemmens' house to the station

at Monteith Quarry, not only in ninety minutes, but in less, if the

exigencies of the case seem to demand it. I did it."

And without a glance at Imogene, but with an air almost lofty in its

pride and manly assertion, the prisoner sank back into his seat, and

resumed once more his quiet and unshaken demeanor.

This last change in the kaleidoscope of events, that had been shifting

before their eyes for the last half hour, was too much for the continued

equanimity of a crowd already worked up into a state of feverish

excitement. It had become apparent that by stripping away his defence,

Mansell left himself naked to the law. In this excitement of the jury,

consequent upon the self-accusation of Imogene, the prisoner's admission

might prove directly fatal to him. He was on trial for this crime;

public justice demanded blood for blood, and public excitement clamored

for a victim. It was dangerous to toy with a feeling but one degree

removed from the sentiment of a mob. The jury might not stop to

sympathize with the self-abnegation of these two persons willing to die

for each other. They might say: "The way is clear as to the prisoner at

least; he has confessed his defence is false; the guilty interpose false

defences; we are acquit before God and men if we convict him out of his

own mouth."

The crowd in the court-room was saying all this and more, each man to

his neighbor. A clamor of voices next to impossible to suppress rose

over the whole room, and not even the efforts of the officers of the

court, exerted to their full power in the maintenance of order, could

have hushed the storm, had not the spectators become mute with

expectation at seeing Mr. Ferris and Mr. Orcutt, summoned by a sign from

the Judge, advance to the front of the bench and engage in an earnest

conference with the Court. A few minutes afterward the Judge turned to

the jury and announced that the disclosures of the morning demanded a

careful consideration by the prosecution, that an adjournment was

undoubtedly indispensable, and that the jury should refrain from any

discussion of the case, even among themselves, until it was finally

given them under the charge of the Court. The jury expressed their

concurrence by an almost unanimous gesture of assent, and the crier

proclaimed an adjournment until the next day at ten o'clock.

Imogene, still sitting in the witness chair, saw the prisoner led forth

by the jailer without being able to gather, in the whirl of the moment,

any indication that her dreadful sacrifice--for she had made wreck of

her life in the eyes of the world whether her confession were true or

false--had accomplished any thing save to drive the man she loved to the

verge of that doom from which she had sought to deliver him.

XXXV.

PRO AND CON.

_Hamlet._--Do you see yonder cloud that's almost in shape of a camel?

_Polonius._--By the mass, and 'tis like a camel indeed.

_Hamlet._--Methinks it is like a weasel.

_Polonius._--It is back'd like a weasel. --HAMLET.

SHORTLY after the adjournment of court, Mr. Ferris summoned the two

detectives to his office.

"We have a serious question before us to decide," said he. "Are we to go

on with the prosecution or are we to stop? I should like to hear your

views on the subject."

Hickory was, as usual, the first to speak.

"I should say, stop," he cried. "This fresh applicant for the honor of

having slain the Widow Clemmens deserves a hearing at least."

"But," hurriedly interposed Byrd, "you don't give any credit to her

story now, even if you did before the prisoner spoke? You know she did

not commit the crime herself, whatever she may choose to declare in her

anxiety to shield the prisoner. I hope, sir," he proceeded, glancing at

the District Attorney, "that _you_ have no doubts as to Miss Dare's

innocence?"

But Mr. Ferris, instead of answering, turned to Hickory and said:

"Miss Dare, in summoning you to confirm her statement, relied, I

suppose, upon the fact of your having been told by Professor Darling's

servant-maid that she--that is, Miss Dare--was gone from the observatory

when the girl came for her on the morning of the murder?"

"Yes, sir."

"A strong corroborative fact, if true?"

"Yes, sir."

"But is it true? In the explanation which Miss Dare gave me last night

of this affair, she uttered statements essentially different from those

she made in court to-day. She then told me she _was_ in the observatory

when the girl came for her; that she was looking through a telescope

which was behind a high rack filled with charts; and that---- Why do you

start?"

"I didn't start," protested Hickory.

"I beg your pardon," returned Mr. Ferris.

"Well, then, if I did make such a fool of myself, it was because so far

her story is plausible enough. She was in that very position when _I_

visited the observatory, you remember, and she was so effectually

concealed I didn't see her or know she was there, till I looked behind

the rack."

"Very good!" interjected Mr. Ferris. "And that," he resumed, "she did

not answer the girl or make known her presence, because at the moment

the girl came in she was deeply interested in watching something that

was going on in the town."

"In the town!" repeated Byrd.

"Yes; the telescope was lowered so as to command a view of the town, and

she had taken advantage of its position (as she assured me last night)

to consult the church clock."

"The church clock!" echoed Byrd once more. "And what time did she say it

was?" breathlessly cried both detectives.

"Five minutes to twelve."

"A critical moment," ejaculated Byrd. "And what was it she saw going on

in the town at that especial time?"

"I will tell you," returned the District Attorney, impressively. "She

said--and I believed her last night and so recalled her to the stand

this morning--that she saw Craik Mansell fleeing toward the swamp from

Mrs. Clemmens' dining-room door."

Both men looked up astonished.

"That was what she told me last night. To-day she comes into court with

this contradictory story of herself being the assailant and sole cause

of Mrs. Clemmens' death."

"But all that is frenzy," protested Byrd. "She probably saw from your

manner that the prisoner was lost if she gave this fact to the court,

and her mind became disordered. She evidently loves this Mansell, and as

for me, I pity her."

"So do I," assented the District Attorney; "still----"

"Is it possible," Byrd interrupted, with feeling, as Mr. Ferris

hesitated, "that you do doubt her innocence? After the acknowledgments

made by the prisoner too?"

Rising from his seat, Mr. Ferris began slowly to pace the floor.

"I should like each of you," said he, without answering the appeal of

Byrd, "to tell me why I should credit what she told me in conversation

last night rather than what she uttered upon oath in the court-room

to-day?"

"Let me speak first," rejoined Byrd, glancing at Hickory. And, rising

also, he took his stand against the mantel-shelf where he could

partially hide his face from those he addressed. "Sir," he proceeded,

after a moment, "both Hickory and myself know Miss Dare to be innocent

of this murder. A circumstance which we have hitherto kept secret, but

which in justice to Miss Dare I think we are now bound to make known,

has revealed to us the true criminal. Hickory, tell Mr. Ferris of the

deception you practised upon Miss Dare in the hut."

The surprised, but secretly gratified, detective at once complied. _He_

saw no reason for keeping quiet about that day's work. He told how, by

means of a letter purporting to come from Mansell, he had decoyed

Imogene to an interview in the hut, where, under the supposition she was

addressing her lover, she had betrayed her conviction of his guilt, and

advised him to confess it.

Mr. Ferris listened with surprise and great interest.

"That seems to settle the question," he said.

But it was now Hickory's turn to shake his head.

"I don't know," he remonstrated. "I have sometimes thought she saw

through the trick and turned it to her own advantage."

"How to her own advantage?"

"To talk in such a way as to make us think Mansell was guilty."

"Stuff!" said Byrd; "that woman?"

"More unaccountable things have happened," was the weak reply of

Hickory, his habitual state of suspicion leading him more than once into

similar freaks of folly.

"Sir," said Mr. Byrd, confidingly, to the District Attorney, "let us run

over this matter from the beginning. Starting with the supposition that

the explanation she gave you last night was the true one, let us see if

the whole affair does not hang together in a way to satisfy us all as to

where the real guilt lies. To begin, then, with the meeting in the

woods----"

"Wait," interrupted Hickory; "there is going to be an argument here; so

suppose you give your summary of events from the lady's standpoint, as

that seems to be the one which interests you most."

"I was about to do so," Horace assured him, heedless of the rough

fellow's good-natured taunt. "To make my point, it is absolutely

necessary for us to transfer ourselves into her position and view

matters as they gradually unfolded themselves before her eyes. First,

then, as I have before suggested, let us consider the interview held by

this man and woman in the woods. Miss Dare, as we must remember, was not

engaged to Mr. Mansell; she only loved him. Their engagement, to say

nothing of their marriage, depended upon his success in life--a success

which to them seemed to hang solely upon the decision of Mrs. Clemmens

concerning the small capital he desired her to advance him. But in the

interview which Mansell had held with his aunt previous to the meeting

between the lovers, Mrs. Clemmens had refused to loan him this money,

and Miss Dare, whose feelings we are endeavoring to follow, found

herself beset by the entreaties of a man who, having failed in his plans

for future fortune, feared the loss of her love as well. What was the

natural consequence? Rebellion against the widow's decision, of

course,--a rebellion which she showed by the violent gesture which she

made;--and then a determination to struggle for her happiness, as she

evinced when, with most unhappy ambiguity of expression, she begged him

to wait till the next day before pressing his ring upon her acceptance,

because, as she said:

"'A night has been known to change the whole current of a person's

affairs.'

"To her, engrossed with the one idea of making a personal effort to

alter Mrs. Clemmens' mind on the money question, these words seemed

innocent enough. But the look with which he received them, and the pause

that followed, undoubtedly impressed her, and prepared the way for the

interest she manifested when, upon looking through the telescope the

next day, she saw him flying in that extraordinary way from his aunt's

cottage toward the woods. Not that she then thought of his having

committed a crime. As I trace her mental experience, she did not come to

that conclusion till it was forced upon her. I do not know, and so

cannot say, how she first heard of the murder----"

"She was told of it on the street-corner," interpolated Mr. Ferris.

"Ah, well, then, fresh from this vision of her lover hasting from his

aunt's door to hide himself in the woods beyond, she came into town and

was greeted by the announcement that Mrs. Clemmens had just been

assaulted by a tramp in her own house. I know this was the way in which

the news was told her, from the expression of her face as she entered

the house. I was standing at the gate, you remember, when she came up,

and her look had in it determination and horror, but no special fear. In

fact, the words she dropped show the character of her thoughts at that

time. She distinctly murmured in my hearing: 'No good can come of it,

none.' As if her mind were dwelling upon the advantages which might

accrue to her lover from his aunt's death, and weighing them against the

foul means by which that person's end had been hastened. Yet I will not

say but she may have been influenced in the course which she took by

some doubt or apprehension of her own. The fact that she came to the

house at all, and, having come, insisted upon knowing all the details

of the assault, seem to prove she was not without a desire to satisfy

herself that suspicion rightfully attached itself to the tramp. But not

until she saw her lover's ring on the floor (the ring which she had with

her own hand dropped into the pocket of his coat the day before) and

heard that the tramp had justified himself and was no longer considered

the assailant, did her true fear and horror come. Then, indeed, all the

past rose up before her, and, believing her lover guilty of this crime,

she laid claim to the jewel as the first and only alternative that

offered by which she might stand between him and the consequences of his

guilt. Her subsequent agitation when the dying woman made use of the

exclamation that indissolubly connected the crime with a ring, speaks

for itself. Nor was her departure from the house any too hurried or

involuntary, when you consider that the vengeance invoked by the widow,

was, in Miss Dare's opinion, called down upon one to whom she had nearly

plighted her troth. What is the next act in the drama? The scene in the

Syracuse depot. Let me see if I cannot explain it. A woman who has once

allowed herself to suspect the man she loves of a murderous deed, cannot

rest till she has either convinced herself that her suspicions are

false, or until she has gained such knowledge of the truth as makes her

feel justified in her seeming treason. A woman of Miss Dare's generous

nature especially. What does she do, then? With the courage that

characterizes all her movements, she determines upon seeing him, and

from his own lips, perhaps, win a confession of guilt or innocence.

Conceiving that his flight was directed toward the Quarry Station, and

thence to Buffalo, she embraced the first opportunity to follow him to

the latter place. As I have told you, her ticket was bought for Buffalo,

and to Buffalo she evidently intended going. But chancing to leave the

cars at Syracuse, she was startled by encountering in the depot the very

man with whom she had been associating thoughts of guilt. Shocked and

thrown off her guard by the unexpectedness of the occurrence, she

betrays her shrinking and her horror. 'Were you coming to see me?' she

asks, and recoils, while he, conscious at the first glimpse of her face

that his guilt has cost him her love, starts back also, uttering, in his

shame and despair, words that were similar to hers, 'Were you coming to

see me?'"

"Convinced without further speech, that her worst fears had foundation

in fact, she turns back toward her home. The man she loved had committed

a crime. That it was partly for her sake only increased her horror

sevenfold. She felt as if she were guilty also, and, with sudden

remorse, remembered how, instead of curbing his wrath the day before she

had inflamed it by her words, if not given direction to it by her

violent gestures. That fact, and the self-blame it produced, probably is

the cause why her love did not vanish with her hopes. Though he was

stained by guilt, she felt that it was the guilt of a strong nature

driven from its bearings by the conjunction of two violent

passions,--ambition and love; and she being passionate and ambitious

herself, remained attached to the man while she recoiled from his crime.

"This being so, she could not, as a woman, wish him to suffer the

penalty of his wickedness. Though lost to her, he must not be lost to

the world. So, with the heroism natural to such a nature, she shut the

secret up in her own breast, and faced her friends with courage,

wishing, if not hoping, that the matter would remain the mystery it

promised to be when she stood with us in the presence of the dying

woman.

"But this was not to be, for suddenly, in the midst of her complacency,

fell the startling announcement that another man--an innocent man--one,

too, of her lover's own standing, if not hopes, had by a curious

conjunction of events so laid himself open to the suspicion of the

authorities as to be actually under arrest for this crime. 'Twas a

danger she had not foreseen, a result for which she was not prepared.

"Startled and confounded she let a few days go by in struggle and

indecision, possibly hoping, with the blind trust of her sex, that Mr.

Hildreth would be released without her interference. But Mr. Hildreth

was not released, and her anxiety was fast becoming unendurable, when

that decoy letter sent by Hickory reached her, awakening in her breast

for the first time, perhaps, the hope that Mansell would show himself to

be a true man in this extremity, and by a public confession of guilt

release her from the task of herself supplying the information which

would lead to his commitment.