e inquest came on; the facts came out--mysteriously whispered before,
spoken aloud now. And for the first time the truth dawned on the
stunned baronet--he was suspected of the murder of the wife he loved!

The revolting atrocity, the unnatural horror of the charge, nerved him
as nothing else could have done. His pale, proud face grew rigid as
stone; his blue eyes flashed scornful defiance; his head reared itself
haughtily aloft. How dare they accuse him of so monstrous a crime?

But the circumstantial evidence was crushing. Sybilla Silver's
evidence alone would have damned him.

She gave it with evident reluctance; but give it she did with frightful
force, and the bereaved young husband stood stunned at the terrible
strength of the case she made out.

Everything told against him. His very eagerness to find the murderer
seemed but throwing dust in their eyes. Not a doubt lingered in the
minds of the coroner or his jury, and before sunset that day Sir
Everard Kingsland was on his way to Worrel Jail to stand his trial at
the coming assizes for the willful murder of Harriet, his wife.

CHAPTER XXX.

MISS SILVER ON OATH.

The day of trial came. Long, miserable weeks of waiting--weeks of
anguish and remorse and despair had gone before, and Sir Everard
Kingsland emerged from his cell to take his place in the criminal dock
and be tried for his life for the greatest crime man can commit.

The court-house was crowded to suffocation--there was not even standing
room. The long gallery was one living semicircle of eyes; ladies, in
gleaming silks and fluttering plumes, thronged as to the opera, and
slender throats were craned, and bright eyes glanced eagerly to catch
one fleeting glimpse of the pale prisoner--a baronet who had murdered
his bride before the honey-moon was well over.

The case was opened in a long and eloquent speech by the counsel for
the crown, setting forth the enormity of the crime, citing a hundred
incidents of the horrible and unnatural deeds jealousy had made men
commit, from the days of the first murderer.

His address was listened to in profoundest silence. The charge he made
out was a terribly strong one, and when he sat down and the first
witness was called the hearts of Sir Everard Kingsland's friends sunk
like lead.

He pleaded "Not guilty!" with an eye that flashed and a voice which
rang, and a look in his pale, proud face that no murderer's face ever
wore on this earth, and wi