around with some consternation at the ugly crowd which gathered about her carriage.

Dr. Doldy was waiting for her just inside the gloomy passage to the court. He came out and helped her from the carriage. He did not speak to her, and, without any word passing between them, uncle and niece passively submitted to the guidance of a burly policeman, who ushered them through a dingy passage, and then, opening a door, led them into the murky little court. Laura was requested to sit down upon a narrow bench. She glanced around, and was at first taken aback by the mass of ugly, interested faces which gazed on her from the partitioned space devoted to the public. But her eye, travelling on, immediately fell upon Lewis Lingen, who sat just below her. The sight refreshed her beyond measure. The coolness and elegant languor of his bearing gave her a sense of rocklike strength. She observed his delicate-coloured gloves, which no dusty papers ever seemed to soil. She drew auguries of triumph from the rich-hearted rose in his buttonhole. And a sense of amusement came over her as she watched him; for she saw that in one hand he held a scent bottle, which, in the intervals of looking over his papers or of speaking to those around him, he used delicately. Laura smiled. to herself; she had not thought of bringing her own vinaigrette, but, she supposed, Mr. Lingen's experience of police-court odours had taught him more forethought. Certainly the atmosphere abominable, she realised, that her attention was attracted to it, and the excitement of her first entrance was wearing off. Surely the magistrate must get a headache, she thought; and can a man judge impartially with a headache?

was

now

Yes, he was mounting the steps which led to that lofty position. He was the same José Yriarte that Laura had once assured herself she loved; extravagantly well-dressed, a small cane in his gloved hand, a smile on his thinly-mustachioed lips. Laura's little boot-heel ground the board beneath her foot. This moment had an ecstacy of its own for her.

He was followed by the other prisoner, Anton, whose supremely handsome face elicited a subdued murmur of admiration from the ladies of the "people," who struggled forward, reckless of the physical sufferings of others, to catch a better view of him.

When he first appeared, a low exclamation of surprise in a familiar voice startled Laura. She looked, and saw that Dorothy Silburn stood close beside her. She must have just come in; but she took no notice of Laura-her eyes were fixed upon Anton.

Laura also looked again at the prisoners; but hurriedly dropped her eyes, for Yriarte, leaning jauntily upon the edge of the dock, was smiling at her and trying to attract her attention, as if they were at the opera instead of in a police court. Laura was intensely indignant-did he expect to carry off his humiliation so insolently? She looked covertly up through her eyelashes after a second, to see

whether he was still watching her. No; he had turned, and, with that sickly peculiar leer which distinguishes the man of low and selfish amours, was scrutinising the faces of the ladies who stood nearlooking either for the recognition of an acquaintance, or for some response to his general admiration.

Dorothy had been watching him. She suddenly turned and looked at Laura; and then took out her handkerchief and put it to her lips, as if to hide their expression. Laura now dropped her eyes and sat motionless, for she had become aware that Mr. Lingen was speaking; that he was giving an outline of the case; that he was mentioning her name. He was then just introducing her, as it were, and expressing his confidence that the public sympathies would be given to a young lady who had the courage to come forward in such a painful case. She heard him describe José Yriarte as a Spaniard of good birth and high connections.

"And his accomplice in this disgraceful case?" said the magistrate with dignity and contempt; "who and what is he?"

"He is said to be a merchant, by himself and the other defendant," answered Mr. Lingen, turning his eyeglass upon the handsome gentleman referred to; "but no traces of any such occupation can be discovered."

"Is he a Spaniard also ?"

"He appears to be Italian," replied Mr. Lingen, " and professes to be unable to speak English. But we have an interpreter in court."

At this moment there was a little stir among the well-dressed spectators, and a little consultation among the authorities of the court. And then, to Laura's great surprise, Dorothy Silburn, journalist, was announced, and stepped into the witness-box and was sworn by the

clerk of the court. She kissed the Bible with a little shudder, caused by its greasiness and an involuntary thought of all the lips which had pressed it before hers. The element of the ridiculous had an annoying way of presenting itself before Dorothy's mental eye at the most inopportune moment.

"I had no intention of acting as witness in this case," said she; "but, as you seem in doubt with regard to this Italian gentleman's employment, may I be allowed to state that I have seen him recently acting in the capacity of model at the Atlas School of Art, and also in a private studio."

66

"What an extraordinary occupation for a merchant!" remarked the magistrate. "Can you tell us anything further?" to Dorothy. Nothing," she said, "except this, that the models at the Atlas School are paid half-a-crown an hour, and, by private students, even less; so that, as it seems to me, this gentleman can hardly have been in a position to act as a merchant or to lend money in the manner named: " with which Dorothy withdrew, followed by a buzz of applause, while curious glances were turned upon Anton. "A very shrewd conclusion," said the magistrate to himself as he made a note of her evidence.

Dorothy, her mind relieved, sat down on the bench in Laura's place; for that young lady was now called into the witness-box. Her appearance there arrested a conversation which had been going on between Yriarte and Anton since Dorothy's statement. Yriarte had been leaning towards him, and had apparently been questioning him in an under-tone; but he turned at once on hearing Laura's voice, and fixed his eyes on her with his habitual bold stare. This did not appear to disconcert Laura, who made her statements with great

composure, and quietly met his gaze several times when referring to him. She drew the line so clearly, representing herself as so innocent and injured a being, and with such apparent unconsciousness, that Lingen smiled within himself, and, looking up from his abstracted gaze upon his papers, he met Yriarte's eyes, so full of evident admiration of the lady's cleverness, that the lawyer himself hastily put up his eyeglass, in order to conceal his own expression.

"I first met Mr. Yriarte," said Laura, "at a ball given by some Spaniards of distinction in London. He afterwards obtained introductions to my aunt, Mrs. Honiton, and to my uncle, Dr. Doldy, and called frequently at both houses. He proposed marriage to me, and, as he was highly connected, my uncle made no objection, and we became engaged. Afterwards we met frequently, and, on more intimate acquaintance, decided to break off the engagement. We had frequently corresponded during the engagement; and when it was broken off I returned the letters which I had of his, and asked for my own. At first he said he had burned them; afterwards he told me he had kept a few. A short time ago I met him in Rotten Row, and he told me that he owed a man some money; and that, my letters having been in a box which contained jewelry, his creditor had seized the box, and, discovering the contents, refused to return them until the debt was paid."

She then went into some particulars of the different interviews with Yriarte, stating that he attempted to get money from her by threats and menaces. Mr. Lingen also read aloud some of Yriarte's letters, asking for money, and saying that Anton would wait no longer, and that her letters would either be published or

handed over to certain persons whom he would not name.

"And these letters of Miss Doldy's," said the magistrate; "have they been inspected? These threats are of course groundless ?"

Mr. Lingen dropped his eyeglass, and turned a perfectly blank and expressionless countenance upon the magistrate.

"I have looked at them," he said, "and they are such as any engaged lady might write-such as any engaged lady might write," he repeated with emphasis.

Yriarte pulled his mustachios, and looked across at Laura. She was as imperturbable as if carved out of stone.

"That makes it a very serious case," said the magistrate gravely.

The prisoners' advocate now spoke. He said that the prisoners allowed themselves to have acted wrongly; but he represented that their punishment should be something nominal. The principal defendant's circumstances had altered for the worse. Moreover, he had no doubt expended large sums of money during his connection with the plaintiff; and, in fine, neither of the defendants could fairly be expected to manifest the same high order of morality as an Englishman. Anton was unable to speak English, and knew nothing of the laws of the country. He had adopted a simple if rough expedient for obtaining money owed to him, and which he much needed. Yriarte was young, had not been long in England, and knew little of the social customs of the English. He had considered himself seriously ill-used by Miss Doldy, and, as some of his relations had refused to believe that the lady -who was known to be beautiful and an heiress-had accepted him in marriage, he had retained some letters as a protection against their insinuations. The fate of these

letters was a natural though very unfortunate one. The learned gentleman spoke at considerable length, and drew a most touching picture of Yriarte as a forlorn and ill-used foreigner. The hero of the story preserved his composure admirably, and the prosecution maintained the silence which they had bound themselves to.

But the magistrate, who much mistrusted the appearance of the prisoners, asked so many questions that the fabric so carefully built by their counsel soon vanished. It was impossible to conceal Yriarte's character, and Anton was too plainly his tool.

The result was that the prisoners were committed for trial by jury, as the magistrate considered the case too serious, and the necessary punishment too heavy, for it to be decided in a police court. As soon as this was known, Dorothy went straight away to her home and hurried to her drawing-room. There she found Ernestine walking up and down in a state of suppressed excitement, her face pale, her hands clasped tight together.

"Is it over?" she exclaimed, as Dorothy entered.

"Yes," said Dorothy, sinking into a chair, quite exhausted with her rapid walk.

"Is he found guilty?"

"He is to be tried by jury; and it is expected, I heard, that he will get penal servitude for life."

"What!" cried Ernestine, in a tone of voice that electrified Dorothy; "No-surely you don't mean it ?"

"Indeed I do."

"Penal servitude for life!" repeated Ernestine; "Oh, how shocking-how shocking! How wicked. she is how cruel! when she-oh, it is too terrible to think of." And, quite overcome with agitation, Ernestine covered her face with trembling hands. Dorothy looked

at her keenly, then rose, and brought her a glass of wine.

"Drink it," she said; "you will make yourself ill, and you cannot afford to do so. These people can take care of themselves."

Yes, I suppose so; I don't understand them. But, Dorothy, think of it-a man whom she has loved! Thank Heaven, I am not in that house now."

"But she did not love him," replied Dorothy contemptuously.

"Oh yes, she did," said Ernestine; "with her sort of love she did. But I never dreamed till now how near a neighbour such love is to hate."

"Have you met him?" asked Dorothy, with a look of suppressed curiosity. She was intensely puzzled by the depth of Ernestine's agitation, and the knowledge she seemed possess of Laura's relations with Yriarte.

to

Never," answered Ernestine.

Well, I recognised him, and his accomplice too; oddly enough, I had seen them both before with

out being aware of it. I have a tenacious memory for faces. Do you remember one evening long ago, when you were coming here with me from Mrs. Vavasour's, we met a little dandy who you said had followed you from the hospital? He admired your personal appearance, and you did not return the compliment; I remember you said he ought to be put under sanitary regimen. He remarked that you were a deuced fine woman as we passed him in the street. Do you recall the man I mean?”

"I think so," said Ernestine. "Yes; I remember the man who said that as we passed, just under a lamp-post. And that was Yriarte ! I wish I had not seen him! I wish I had never heard of him! Oh, Dorothy, it is making a weak fool of me, this helpless position in the midst of such a hateful tragedy."

"Dear Ernestine, I think you are nervous, and exaggerate the horrors of the affair. Yriarte richly deserves his punishment, and Laura is quite proud of having accomplished the duty of punishing him."

"But she-how dare she take up such a task? I wonder the heavens did not fall on her. Dorothy, don't talk to me; I am provoked into saying foolish things. I begin to see that this world is a mystery to me."

"You are in it, but not of it," said Dorothy; "you are the most unworldly person I know, and I am quite glad you recognise the fact at last. Don't put on your hat in such a hurry-you are not fit to run away to your work yet. And you have not heard about my recognising Yriarte's fellow-pri

soner.

"Well ? " said wearily.

Ernestine,

"I knew him at once; I have seen him sitting as a model at halfa-crown an hour many a time. A splendidly handsome fellow; all body, and no brains-regularly run to beauty as a plant runs to seed. A mere tool in Yriarte's hands, evidently he had never had any money to lend Yriarte, it was perfectly plain on the face of it. The whole thing was so easily seen to have been got up to frighten Laura, that I don't at all wonder at the talk I heard about a heavy sentence."

"Dorothy, don't tell me any more; I am sated with horrors."

Dorothy opened her eyes very wide indeed. "Horrors?" she repeated; "why, this is not so dreadful."

"Oh, it is, it is," said Ernestine, passionately; "why, the world is heartless-cold, cruel-yes, heart

less."

She dropped her face upon her hands, which were clasped on the table before her.

When, after some moments of a sad silence, she raised her head again, Coventry stood opposite her, his eyes fixed upon her with a strange expression in them which deeply moved her. They were full of love and a yearning desire to help her.

Dorothy was not in the room. There is something priestly in the poetic character. Poets are truly the elder brothers of the race, and the younger members of that great family are penetrated by their insight and aided by their spiritual experience. The true ghostly father is he who can breathe the rarified air of those heights of the spirit where poetry finds her home.

Ernestine, looking up into his eyes, recognised in Coventry the ideal father confessor. This un

worldly being would read rightly an opened heart, and was incapable of any of the pettinesses of ordinary human nature which make confession unsafe.

"He ought not to be so heavily punished," she said, full of excitement, and seeming not to remember that Coventry had only just come into the room, and had not been present during her talk with Dorothy. "He does not deserve it, and it is wicked that she should be able to crush him merely for her own selfish ends-that his whole life should be sacrificed so cruelly in order that she may be rich. Now I can believe in the accusations of cruelty which are made against women-I never could before. But what can be more hideous than for a woman to condemn a man to the life of a convict because he is in her way y? Why could she not stab him, or pay an assassin ? Such a deed would have been angelic by the side of this, which civilisation permits and justice shields. I understand now how vivisection can exist; there