should be provided free of expense, if the accused
wished to avail herself of it?"

"Not a word of truth in it."

"It was hinted in the ' Reliable Rumours'
column of the Vigil," retorted the first speaker.

"Then you may be sure it isn't true. Their
plan is a simple one. They invent a thing and
publish it in large type one day, and contradict
it in small print the next. And a very good plan
too."

"I'll tell you what is true, though, and no
mistake," remarked the Evening Gun again,
"and that is, that the different flower-shop people
in Covent Garden have clubbed together to keep
the prisoner supplied with bouquets ever since
the day of the inquest."

"You don't say so!" remarked the reporter
for the Early Bird, note-book in hand.

"I do, indeed. You may rely on it perfectly,
just as you may on the fact that the Lady Violet
Ammonia has sent her a magnificent golden
smelling-bottle, set with rubies, and full of the
most pungent salts that could be got—expressly
for the trial."

"You don't say so!" urged the Early Bird
again.

"Yes but I do. You'll see it at the trial."

The Bar had its gossip and its talk in connexion
with the great case, as the reporters had.

"No change about the defence, I suppose?"
asked a gentleman whose black eyebrows and
whiskers formed a striking contrast to his white
wig and pale face, and who leant over as he
spoke to secure the attention of one of the
attorneys in court; no other, indeed, than our
friend Mr. Craft.

"No, I believe not. He's determined that
nobody shall get her off but himself."

"Is it true that Vellamy offered to defend
her?"

"Yes, I had it from himself; but Pemnore
declined him very courteously, and said that his
wife was still determined to trust to her husband,
and nobody else."

"And is he sanguine about it, do you know?"

"Very, I'm told. I understand that some
new evidence has turned up at the eleventh
hour evidence of the most vital importance, and
which can't fail to affect the case materially."

"Did you hear what it was?"

"No; but we shall know before long, now."

All this time the commotion and noise in court
were very great. It was more than full, and,
except the places which were kept for those who
held office, there was not a vacant square foot to
be seen anywhere. The buzz and confusion was
at its height; everybody seemed to be talking at
once, and all in a high state of excitement, when
in one moment there came a sudden lull, and all
eyes were suddenly turned in one direction to
where the figure of a pale young man with rather
a yellow face, and wearing a wig and gown, was
seen advancing slowly and with difficulty towards
the place reserved for him on the barristers'
benches.

The public might well gaze after this gentleman;
for the rumour which went through the
court like an electric flash, that he was the
"counsel for the defence," was nothing more nor
less than the truth.

Our friend Gilbert moved and looked almost
like one in a trance. And I think it is probable
that he was wrought up to such a high pitch of
nervous excitation, that the court, and the people,
and all things around, would appear but
indistinctly before him—dim, and uncertain, and
wavering.

He was very, very pale, but hardly nervous
and not embarrassed at all. Embarrassment is
for small occasions, not for such moments as
these. A man may be embarrassed when he
returns thanks for the drinking of his health,
not when he pleads for the life of one whom he
loves.

Penmore took his place, holding such papers
as he required in his hand. There was no fussy
turning over of briefs, or conversation with
attorneys; no referring to law-books. All that
was done long ago. Such actions are often
resorted to by persons who feel that all eyes are
fixed upon their movements. If all eyes were
fixed on Gilbert Penmore, he did not know it, or,
knowing, was entirely indifferent. He was here
in the lists. His dear Gabrielle was in danger, and
he was to fight for her. Let those look on who
liked. They were invisible to him.

There was a gentleman in a very old gown, and
a wig that fitted him ill, who was seated next to
Gilbert, and who was evidently engaged in the
case. It was his friend and colleague, Mr. Steel.

These two spoke together now and then in
whispers, but for the most part they were very
silent.

It is not enough to say that the court was full.
The very purlieus of the court were encumbered
with those who, unable to gain admittance
themselves, drew their supplies of information from
those who were more fortunate, receiving notice
of everything that happened from persons within,
and in turn passing it on to those who were yet
further off from the great centre of attraction.

"He's come in," one of these retailers of
second-hand information would exclaim upon
the entry of Penmore as just described—" he's
come in, Bill."

"Who's come in?" inquired the person thus
addressed.

"'Er 'usband," was the answer.

"'Ow does he look?"

"Hoffle pale."

And so the arrival of each new actor in this
terrible drama was proclaimed, and his or her
appearance commented on.

For all things were now ready. The members
of the Bar were seated. The reporters were ready
with their pencils in their hands, and their paper
fastened down with elastic bands. The gentlemen
of the weekly press, whose business was
less to report the trial than to note the
peculiarities of the scene, and to record it in its more