suffering painfully to.the naked eye from heat)
to "scout" this action from the court. And
he dropped exhausted into his seat, leaving the
heavy jury in a state of pettish doubt and
uncertainty as to what they were to think or do.

Then the judge charged, and at the close of
the judge's charge, Serjeant Ryder's junior, who
had been writing a good deal behind, put a
paper into his leader's hand, who thereupon
stood up and "tendered a bill of exceptions."
Mr. Justice Buckstone, who did not wish to be
"annoyed with the thing afterwards," said,
good naturedly, that "he had put the thing as
clearly as possible to the jury," and, if anything,
rather more fairly for Serjeant Ryder's client
than was consistent with strict justice. "Much
better leave the thing to these gentlemen, who
are quite capable of doing substantial justice
between the parties. "We shall only be
embarrassing the case hereafter. Come, now,"
said the judge, with an insinuating sort of
invitation to his brother.

But his brother was cold, and stern, and hard,
and pressed his exceptions.

"Well, read them, read them," said the judge,
pettishly.

They were:

1. That the learned judge should not have
admitted in evidence a draught-deed, and one
not in the handwriting of the settlor.

2. That Ogle's declaration as to a conversation
on the alleged Scotch marriage should have
been withdrawn from the jury, it not being
shown that Ogle and the other parties to the
conversation were alive or dead.

3. That the two letters should not have been
received as evidence, as being post lis mota.

Mr. Cobham listened to his learned friend's
points with some anxiety, and not a little
disturbed, but was reassured by something in the
looks of the heavy hunting jury. Perhaps the
uuworthy disparagement of the "convict" had
not so much effect, especially as he, in his reply,
had effectually rehabilitated the convict into
"an aged man," who had lived through many
troubles and youthful follies ("and let such of
us as are without sin, gentlemen, be the first to
cast a stone"), who had travelled well-nigh on
"to the great gates of the valley of the shadow
of death, like us all," and who in his long life
had done many things which he now wished
undone, and had left things undone which, &c.
In this way was this important witness
rehabilitated. And then the jury retired.

It was now seven o'clock. Every one was
rising, gathering up papers, talking pleasantly
and noisily, and dispersing. Hot, flushed, worn,
and with eyes that almost seemed to flare, Ross
went out of the court into the cool air. Already
the lamps were lighted and the gaudy grocers'
shops illuminated, and a crowd of lounging idlers
in corduroy and fustian gathered in the middle of
the road. Ross came out, angrily pushing his
way, and muttering impatiently about "idle
people with nothing to do." He caught hold
of his solicitor. "Well," he asked, "how do
we stand now?" The other answered,
excitedly, "I don't know, Mr. Ross. I hope you
will be satisfied before an hour is over—fully
satisfied. I have washed my hands of the whole
business, long ago. I hope you listened to
Serjeant Ryder's speech, and that that satisfied
you?"

"Why didn't you retain him, then?" said
Ross, insolently. "That was your business."

"It has been a nice mess from the
beginning," said Mr. Cater, fiercely. "I tell you
what, sir—I wouldn't give twopence-halfpenny
for the chance of a verdict—there!"

He left him. Mr. Tilney came up with
Mr. Tillotson, and took Ross's arm. They
walked home together. "Come along!" he cried.
"You take the other, Tillotson," he said, meaning
his arm. "We have all gone through a
great deal to-day."

"And you have picked up some encouraging
news—eh?" said Ross.

"I said to myself," said Mr. Tilney,
dreamily, "in that witness-box, tell the exact
truth, the whole undivided truth, and nothing
in the wide world but the truth—just as the
words run. You have no idea what a curious
feeling it is. Dear me! I could have given
them a perfect photograph of the little supper.
Ogle came in as drunk as an owl."

"What a pity you didn't tell them that" said
Ross, with a sneer.

"At all events," said Mr. Tillotson, kindly,
"I do think there are excellent chances. I
thought there was a great impression made on
the jury, and some one near me said, I think,
they were all radicals to a man."

"It is very good of you to take such trouble
—very kind of you to say so," said Ross,
indifferently, and half sneering."Let us get along
quickly, for God's sake! I want some dinner,
and then I must get back to that infernal
court."

"There was a boy there that I ventured to
engage to wait until the verdict came in, and
then drive as hard as he could up to the Close
with the news. I knew you would be anxious."

Ross looked at him half softened. "Very
good of you," he said again. "We shall hear soon
enough. Ill news will travel quicker than your
boy."

It was a solemn and mournful dinner. The
ladies of the family had heard the foreboding as
to the result. Indeed, Mr. Cater had gone up
expressly to repeat his declaration of its
possible value at something under "twopence
halfpenny." Mrs. Tilney glowed and coloured now
and again as she thought of the folly of the
thing. There was but little spoken. Ross sat
and glared on them, and at every sound outside
looked with a start towards the window. As
he did so, he saw Mr. Tillotson talking in a low
voice to Ada Millwood, and he broke out
impatiently:

"I wish you had left your boy and your cab
alone. I have heard it coming twenty times
now. And for God's sake, Ada, can't you leave
that trial; you'll have plenty of time to talk of
it, and to gloat over it, and to say what a pity