me before I do more harm! Hang me, for
God's sake, out of the way!" As soon as
the shock produced by this extraordinary
interruption had subsided, he was removed,
and there followed a long discussion about
whether he was of sound mind or not. The
point was left to the jury to decide by their
verdict. They found him guilty of the
charge of manslaughter, without the excuse
of insanity. He was brought up again, and
condemned to transportation for life. All he
did on hearing the sentence was to reiterate
his desperate words, "Hang me before I
do more harm! Hang me, for God's sake,
out of the way?"

June 20th. I made yesterday's entry in
sadness of heart, and I have not been better
in my spirits to-day. It is something to
have brought the murderer to the punishment
that he deserves. But the knowledge
that this most righteous act of retribution is
accomplished, brings no consolation with it.
The law does indeed punish Noah Truscott
for his crime; but can it raise up Mary
Mallinson from her last resting-place in the
churchyard?

While writing of the law, I ought to
record that the heartless wretch who allowed
Mary to be struck down in his presence without
making any attempt to defend her, is not
likely to escape with perfect impunity. The
policeman who looked after him to insure his
attendance at the trial, discovered that he
had committed past offences, for which the
law can make him answer. A summons was
executed upon him, and he was taken before
the magistrate the moment he left the court
after giving his evidence.

I had just written these few lines, and
was closing my journal, when there came a
knock at the door. I answered it, thinking
Robert had called in his way home to say
good-night, and found myself face to face
with a strange gentleman, who immediately
asked for Anne Rodway. On hearing that I
was the person inquired for, he requested
five minutes' conversation with me. I showed
him into the little empty room at the back
of the house, and waited, rather surprised
and fluttered, to hear what he had to say.

He was a dark man, with a serious manner,
and a short stern way of speaking. I was
certain that he was a stranger, and yet there
seemed something in his face not unfamiliar
to me. He began by taking a newspaper
from his pocket, and asking me if I was the
person who had given evidence at the trial
of Noah Truscott on a charge of
manslaughter. I answered immediately that I
was.

"I have been for nearly two years in London
seeking Mary Mallinson, and always
seeking her in vain," he said. "The first and
only news I have had of her I found in the
newspaper report of the trial yesterday."

He still spoke calmly, but there was something
in the look of his eyes which showed
me that he was suffering in spirit. A sudden
nervousness overcame me, and I was obliged
to sit down.

"You knew Mary Mallinson, sir?" I
asked, as quietly as I could.

"I am her brother."

I clasped my hands and hid my face in
despair. O! the bitterness of heart with
which I heard him say those simple words!

"You were very kind to her," said the
calm, tearless man. "In her name and for
her sake, I thank you."

"O! sir," I said, "why did you never
write to her when you were in foreign
parts?"

"I wrote often," he answered, "but each
of my letters contained a remittance of
money. Did Mary tell you she had a
step-mother? If she did, you may guess why
none of my letters were allowed to reach
her. I now know that this woman robbed
my sister. Has she lied in telling me that
she was never informed of Mary's place of
abode?"

I remembered that Mary had never
communicated with her step-mother after the
separation, and could therefore assure him
that the woman had spoken the truth.

He paused for a moment, after that, and
sighed. Then he took out a pocket-book
and said:

"I have already arranged for the
payment of any legal expenses that may have
been incurred by the trial; but I have still
to reimburse you for the funeral charges
which you so generously defrayed. Excuse
my speaking bluntly on this subject, I am
accustomed to look on all matters where
money is concerned purely as matters of
business."

I saw that he was taking several bank-
notes out of the pocket-book, and stopped
him.

"I will gratefully receive back the little
money I actually paid, sir, because I am not
well off, and it would be an ungracious act of
pride in me to refuse it from you," I said.
"But I see you handling bank-notes, any
one of which is far beyond the amount you
have to repay me. Pray put them back, sir.
What I did for your poor lost sister, I did
from my love and fondness for her. You
have thanked me for that; and your thanks
are all I can receive."

He had hitherto concealed his feelings, but
I saw them now begin to get the better of
him. His eyes softened, and he took my
hand and squeezed it hard.

"I beg your pardon," he said. "I beg
your pardon, with all my heart."

There was silence between us, for I was
crying; and I believe, at heart, he was
crying too. At last, he dropped my hand,
and seemed to change back, by an effort, to
his former calmness.

"Is there no one belonging to you to whom