"We observed the following persons of note
occupying conspicuous positions in the body of
the court;" and then followed a long list of names
and titles.

Such a case as this, it will easily be credited,
could not fail to draw together a great crowd of
persons, anxious not only to watch the course of
the trial and to hear the verdict, but to see this
lady, who, young in years, well connected by birth,
of such attractive appearance and gentle bearing,
was yet accused (incredible as it seemed) of that
crime which the law has placed at the head of the
list, as the worst of atrocities, and to the
commission of which the punishment of death is still
awarded.

Nor was this all. It had now got to be generally
known that this young lady was to be defended
on her trial by no less a person than her
own husband. Yes; the barrister who was bound
to watch the interests of his client with breathless
care, to parry every thrust that should be
made against her life (for it would be her life,
and nothing less, that would be at stake), to
defend her inch by inch, and step by step—this
champion of her rights, this defender of her person,
was the same who had plighted his troth
to her at the altar, and sworn to love, honour,
and protect her as long as he should live.

Could a more wondrous combination of things
—could aught more calculated to stimulate men's
curiosity—be conceived? Was it possible that
a more enormous stake could be hazarded, a more
tremendous issue hang in the balance? Throughout,
the case had always excited the most powerful
interest. The coroner's inquest, the application
for the magistrate's warrant, every stage
through which the thing had passed, had stirred
the public curiosity strangely. The newspapers
had been full of the case; it had been the talk of
the clubs, and even of the drawing-rooms, for
ladies were interested in the history of this young
creature, who was involved in so fearful a danger,
and over whom there hung so dark and profound
a shadow. People could not believe that that
gentle, delicate-looking girl, with the refined
sensitive face, whom some had seen in person,
while others were familiar with her features from
the photographs in the shop-windows, could
have been guilty of this foul and hideous crime
—a crime, too, rendered doubly foul and doubly
hideous by the treachery which accompanied it.
Society had to some extent taken the case up.
Society did not know her exactly, but it knew
about her, while about her husband and his family
it was even better informed yet. There were old
fellows who had been contemporaries of his
father, and who would revive their recollections
for the occasion. "Penmore! oh yes, I knew
Penmore well enough, and an uncommon fine
young fellow he was, too. We were both in the
28th together. Ah dear, yes, he suffered a good
deal at the time when the great depreciation in
West Indian property took place. And then
they gave him that appointment, and one saw no
more of him. Poor fellow! and so this Mrs. Penmore,
that there's all this fuss about, is his son's
wife. God bless my soul, what a dreadful thing!"

It was at a London dinner-table that these
reminiscences were elicited from a certain Colonel
Styles, an old retired officer, who had once, as he
said, served with Governor Penmore, then a
subaltern in a marching regiment. People who
could call up such memories as these were at
this time very welcome in general society, while
any one who had actually known or come in
contact with Gilbert Penmore or his wife personally
was quite eagerly sought after. As for Julius
Lethwaite, his friends were ready to tear him to
pieces from the moment that it became known
that the heroine in this terrible drama was
numbered among his friends, and that her husband
was his constant associate.

Even his descent in the social scale, from being
a rich merchant and a sleeping partner with
nothing to do, to occupying the post of artist on
the drums in the orchestra of the opera, could
not deprive of his social importance the man who
was actually the companion of the two persons
about whom society was at that moment so
keenly interested, and Lethwaite might have
dined out every day of his life on the strength of
his friendship for the suspected murderess and
her husband and advocate, if his professional
engagements would have permitted it, and if the
state of his spirits, much depressed by his friend's
misfortunes, had not wholly unfitted him for the
gossip of the drawing-rooms.

It was a crowded court. Every available inch
of ground was utilised, and the space usually set
aside for official purposes was encroached upon
to the very utmost. Even the members of the
public press were scarcely allowed elbow-room,
and, accustomed as they were to niche themselves
into corners, were apt to complain of the want
of accommodation. These gentlemen were, as
usual, busy already before the work of the day
began. Some were gleaning information from
lawyers of their acquaintance; some were
extracting interesting particulars from officials
connected with the prison; some were laying
their heads together imparting their information
mutually to each other; while some old stagers
were making themselves comfortable, getting
their pens and ink ready, and seating themselves
in such wise as that they could see, hear, and
write with the greatest convenience. They had
their work cut out for them. This trial was an
important one, and the public would be jealously
on the look-out for closely observed details and
accurate description of everything that happened.
The " on dits" that were in circulation in
connexion with this case were on a most extended
scale, and had to be scrupulously canvassed by
the gentlemen of the press before it could be
thought right to give them admission to the
honours of print.

"Is it true," the Evening Gun would ask,
addressing himself to a neighbour, " that a very
high personage sent down to the prison to say
that the very best counsel that was to be had