bring him directly. In half an hour it will be
too late."

Green hurried out and nearly ran against Mr.
Richard Hardie, who was moodily pacing
Westminster Hall at the climax of his own anxiety.
To him all turned on Skinner. Five minutes
passed, ten, fifteen, twenty: all the plaintiff's
party had their eyes on the door; but Green did
not return; and the judge did. Then to gain a
few minutes more, Mr. Colt, instructed by
Compton, rose and said with great solemnity, "We
are about to call our last witness; the living
have testified to my client's sanity; and now we
shall read you the testimony of the dead."

Saunders.—That I object to, of course.

Colt.—Does my learned friend mean to say he
objects at random?

Saunders.—Nothing of the kind. I object on
the law of evidence, a matter on which my
learned friend seems to be under a hallucination
as complete as his clients about that £14,000.

Colt.—

            There's none ever feared
            That the truth should be heard
            But they whom the truth would indict.

Saunders.—I've as little respect for old songs
in a court of justice as I have for new law.

Colt.—Really, my learned friend is the
objective case incarnate. (To Compton.—I can't
keep this nonsense up for ever. Is Skinner
come?) He has a Mania for objection, and
with your lordship's permission I'll buy a
couple of doctors and lock him up in an
asylum as he leaves the court this afternoon.
(Laughter.)

The Judge.—A very good plan: then you'll
no longer feel the weight of his abilities. I
conclude, Mr. Colt, you intend to call a witness
who will swear to the deceased person's
handwriting, and that it was written in the
knowledge Death was at hand.

Colt.—Certainly, my lord. I can call Miss
Julia Dodd.

Saunders.—That I need not take the trouble
of objecting to.

The Judge (with some surprise).—No, Mr.
Colt. That will never do. You have examined
her, and re-examined her.

I need hardly say Mr. Colt knew very well he
could not call Julia Dodd. But he was fighting
for seconds now, to get in Skinner. " Call
Edward Dodd."

Edward was sworn, and asked if he knew
the late Jane Hardie.

"I knew her well," said he.

"Is that her handwriting?"

"It is."

"Where was it written?"

"In my mother's house at Barkington."

"Under what circumstances?"

"She was dying—of a blow given her by a
maniac called Maxley."

"Maxley!" said the judge to counsel. "I
remember the Queen v. Maxley. I tried it
myself at the assizes: it was for striking a young
lady with a bludgeon, of which she died. Maxley
was powerfully defended; and it was proved that
his wife had died, and he had been driven mad
for a time, by her father's bank breaking. The
jury would bring in a verdict that was no verdict
at all; as I took the liberty to tell them at the
time. The judges dismissed it, and Maxley was
eventually discharged."

Colt.—No doubt that was the case, my lord.
(To the witness.) Did Jane Hardie know she
was dying?

"Oh yes, sir. She told us all so."

"To whom did she give this letter?"

"To my sister."

"Oh, to your sister? To Miss Julia Dodd?"

"Yes, sir. But not for herself. It was to
give to Alfred Hardie."

"Can you read the letter? it is rather faintly
written. It is written in pencil, my lord."

"I could read it, sir; but I hope you will excuse
me. She that wrote it was very, very dear
to me."

The young man's full voice faltered as he
uttered these words, and he turned his lion-like
eyes soft and imploring on the judge. That
venerable and shrewd old man, learned in human
nature as well as in law, comprehended in a moment,
and said, kindly, " You misunderstand him.
Witnesses do not read letters out in court.
Let the letter be handed up to me." This was
fortunate, for the court cuckoo, who intones most
letters, would have read all the sense and pathos
out of this with his monotonous sing-song.

The judge read it carefully to himself with his
glasses, and told the jury it seemed a genuine
document; then the crier cried " Silence in the
court," and his lordship turned towards the jury,
and read the letter slowly and solemnly:

"DEAR, DEAR BROTHER,—YOUR POOR LITTLE
JANE LIES DYING, SUDDENLY BUT NOT PAINFULLY,
AND MY LAST EARTHLY THOUGHTS ARE
FOR MY DARLING BROTHER. SOME WICKED
PERSON HAS SAID YOU ARE INSANE. I DENY
THIS WITH MY DYING BREATH AND MY DYING
HAND. YOU CAME TO ME THE NIGHT BEFORE
THE WEDDING THAT WAS TO BE, AND TALKED TO
ME MOST CALMLY, RATIONALLY, AND KINDLY;
SO THAT I COULD NOT RESIST YOUR REASONS,
AND WENT TO YOUR WEDDING, WHICH,
TILL THEN, I DID NOT INTEND. SHOW THESE
WORDS TO YOUR SLANDERERS WHEN I AM NO
MORE. BUT OH! ALFRED, EVEN THIS IS OF
LITTLE MOMENT COMPARED WITH THE WORLD TO
COME. BY ALL OUR AFFECTION GRANT ME ONE
REQUEST. BATTERED, WOUNDED, DYING IN MY
PRIME, WHAT WOULD BE MY CONDITION BUT FOR
THE SAVIOUR, WHOM I HAVE LOVED, AND WITH
WHOM I HOPE SOON TO BE. HE SMOOTHS THE
BED OF DEATH FOR ME, HE LIGHTS THE DARK
VALLEY; I REJOICE TO DIE AND BE WITH HlM.
OH, TURN TO HlM, DEAR BROTHER, WITHOUT
ONE HOUR'S DELAY, AND THEN HOW SHORT WILL
BE THIS PARTING. THIS IS YOUR DYING SISTER'S
ONE REQUEST, WHO LOVES YOU DEARLY."

With the exception of Julia's sobs, not a sound