"Certainly; so kind a friend as you shall hear
all I can tell; that is, all I am at liberty to
tell."

"A friend! Yes, I am a friend; and I will not
urge any other claim just now. Perhaps——"

Ellinor could not affect to misunderstand
him. His manner implied even more than his
words.

"No!" she said, eagerly. " We are friends.
That is it. I think we shall always be friends,
though I will tell you now—something—this
much—it is a sad secret. God help me! I am
as guilty as poor Dixon, if, indeed, he is guilty—
but he is innocent—indeed he is!"

"If he is no more guilty than you, I am sure
he is! Let me be more than your friend,
Ellinor—let me know all, and help you all that
I can, with the right of an affianced husband."

"No, no!" said she, frightened both at what
she had revealed, and his eager, warm, imploring
manner. "That can never be. You do
not know the disgrace that may be hanging over
me."

"If that is all," said he, " I take my risk—if
that is all—if you only fear that I may shrink
from sharing any peril you may be exposed
to."

"It is not peril—it is shame and obloquy——"
she murmured.

"Well! shame and obloquy. Perhaps, if I
knew all, I could shield you from it."

"Don't, pray, speak any more about it now;
if you do, I must say 'No.'"

She did not perceive the implied encouragement
in these words; but he did, and they
sufficed to make him patient. The time was up,
and he could only render her his last services as
courier, and none other but the necessary words
at starting passed between them. But he went
away from the station with a cheerful heart; while
she, sitting alone and quiet, and at last approaching
near to the place where so much was to
be decided, felt sadder and sadder, heavier and
heavier.

All the intelligence she had gained since she
had seen the Galignani in Paris, had been from
the waiter at the Great Western Hotel, who,
after returning from a vain search for an
unoccupied Times, had volunteered the information
that there was an unusual demand for the paper
because of Hellingford Assizes, and the trial
there for murder that was going on.

There was no electric telegraphs in those
days; at every station Ellinor put her head out,
and inquired if the murder trial at Hellingford
was ended. Some porters told her one thing,
some another, in their hurry; she felt that she
could not rely on them.

"Drive to Mr. Johnson's, in the High-
street —quick, quick. I will give you half-a-
crown if you will go quick."

For, indeed, her endurance, her patience, was
strained almost to snapping; yet at Hellingford
station, where doubtless they could have told
her the truth, she dared not ask the question.
It was past eight o'clock at night. In many
houses in the little country town there were
unusual lights and sounds. The inhabitants
were showing their hospitality to such of the
strangers brought by the assizes, who were
lingering there now that the business that had
brought them was over. The judges had left
the town that afternoon, to wind up the
circuit by the short list of a neighbouring county
town.

Mr. Johnson was entertaining a dinner-party
of attorneys when he was summoned from dessert
by the announcement of a "lady who wanted to
speak to him immediate and particular."

He went into his study in not the best of
tempers. There he found his client, Miss
Wilkins, white and ghastly, standing by the
fireplace, with her eyes fixed on the door.

"It is you, Miss Wilkins! I am very
glad——"

"Dixon!" said she. It was all she could
utter.

Mr. Johnson shook his head.

"Ah! that's a sad piece of business, and I'm
afraid it has shortened your visit at Rome."

"Is he——?"

"Ay, I am afraid there's no doubt of his
guilt. At any rate, the jury found him guilty,
and——"

"And!" she repeated, quickly, sitting down,
the better to bear the words that she knew were
coming——

"Is condemned to death."

"When?"

"The Saturday but one after the judges left
the town, I suppose—it's the usual time."

"Who tried him?"

"Judge Corbet; and, for a new judge, I must
say I never knew one who got through his business
so well. It was really as much as I could
stand to hear him condemning the prisoner to
death. Dixon was undoubtedly guilty, and he
was as stubborn as could be—a sullen old fellow
who would let no one help him through. I am
sure I did my best for him at Miss Monro's
desire and for your sake. But he would furnish
me with no particulars, help us to no evidence.
I had the hardest work to keep him from
confessing all before witnesses, who would have
been bound to repeat it as evidence against
him. Indeed, I never thought he would have
pleaded 'Not Guilty.' I think it was only with
a desire to justify himself in the eyes of some
old Hamley acquaintances. Good God, Miss
Wilkins! What's the matter? You're not fainting!"
He rang the bell till the rope remained
in his hands. "Here, Esther! Jerry!
Whoever you are, come quick! Miss Wilkins has
fainted! Water! Wine! Tell Mrs. Johnson to
come here directly!"

Mrs. Johnson, a kind, motherly woman, who
had been excluded from the "gentleman's dinner-
party," and had devoted her time to superintending
the dinner her husband had ordered, came
in answer to his call for assistance, and found
Ellinor lying back in her chair white and senseless.

"Bessy, Miss Wilkins has fainted; she has
had a long journey, and is in a fidget about