er face to them all.

She spoke bravely; but she had not realized all that was before her.
And when she came up the dark winding stairs from the underground
cells, and found herself in that--great God! was it some crowded
theatre, or a solemn court of justice?--her physical strength gave
way, and she scarce knew what happened for some moments.

Then her will asserted itself again. She stood up. She faced the
judge, the jury, the crowded bar, the fashionable dames in the
gallery, and showed no more signs of fear. Her name was called, the
hideous accusation was made. She answered it out loud. Her counsel,
dreading another scene like that already recorded, had bent across the
table and warned the clerk of arraigns beforehand of what the plea
would be. The jury were sworn, including in their number the two
onlookers whose remarks on the previous day had been so suddenly cut
short. The last formula had been recited by the clerk.

'Gentlemen of the jury, the prisoner at the bar stands indicted for
that she did wilfully murder one Ann Elizabeth Lewis. To that she has
pleaded that she is not guilty. Now, you are to try the issue, and to
say whether she is guilty or not.'

And now the counsel for the prosecution had begun his speech.

'Two years ago the prisoner was left an orphan by the death of her
father, the Rector of Porthstone. She went to live in the house of a
lady who had known her from a child, and who lived in the same place.
With that lady she remained down to the first of last June, and it is
that lady with whose murder she now stands charged.

'Miss Lewis, the deceased, may be described as eccentric. She was in
the habit for some years before her death of making very large
purchases of jewels----'

'I beg your pardon.' It was the counsel for the prisoner who rose to
his feet and interrupted. 'My lord, I am sorry to interrupt my learned
friend at this early stage, but may I ask him if he has any evidence
that the prisoner knew of the existence of these jewels. If not, my
lord, I submit he is not entitled to refer to them at all.'

The Judge: 'What do you say, Mr. Prescott?'

'My lord, I am entirely in your lordship's hands. This is the first
time it has been suggested to me that the fact of the deceased's
having this jewellery was not a matter of common knowledge in the
household. I therefore can't say at this stage whether I shall be able
to distinctly fix the prisoner with such knowledge.'

The Judge: