on and threats uttered by the evicted
man; two persons, a stone-breaker and a tramp, narrated that they had
seen him going in the direction of the rick and barn at five o'clock, and
coming away therefrom at five-fifteen. Punctuated by the barking of the
terrier clerk, all this took time, during which there passed through
Felix many thoughts. Here was a man who had done a wicked, because an
antisocial, act; the sort of act no sane person could defend; an act so
barbarous, stupid, and unnatural that the very beasts of the field would
turn noses away from it! How was it, then, that he himself could not
feel incensed? Was it that in habitually delving into the motives of
men's actions he had lost the power of dissociating what a man did from
what he was; had come to see him, with his thoughts, deeds, and
omissions, as a coherent growth? And he looked at Tryst. The big
laborer was staring with all his soul at Derek. And, suddenly, he saw
his nephew stand up--tilt his dark head back against the wall--and open
his mouth to speak. In sheer alarm Felix touched Mr. Pogram on the arm.
The little square man had already turned; he looked at that moment
extremely like a frog.

"Gentlemen, I wish to say--"

"Who are you? Sit down!" It was the chairman, speaking for the first
time in a voice that could be heard.

"I wish to say that he is not responsible. I--"

"Silence! Silence, sir! Sit down!"

Felix saw his nephew waver, and Sheila pulling at his sleeve; then, to
his infinite relief, the boy sat down. His sallow face was red; his thin
lips compressed to a white line. And slowly under the eyes of the whole
court he grew deadly pale.

Distracted by fear that the boy might make another scene, Felix followed
the proceedings vaguely. They were over soon enough: Tryst committed,
defence reserved, bail refused--all as Mr. Pogram had predicted.

Derek and Sheila had vanished, and in the street outside, idle at this
hour of a working-day, were only the cars of the four magistrates; two or
three little knots of those who had been in court, talking of the case;
and in the very centre of the street, an old, dark-whiskered man, lame,
and leaning on a stick.

"Very nearly being awkward," said the voice of Mr. Pogram in his ear. "I
say, do you think--no hand himself, surely no real hand himself?"

Felix shook his head violently. If the thought had once or twice
occurred to him, he repudiated it with all his force when s