e Captain Tremayne's acquittal,
thereby enabling him to fulfil towards this lady a duty which the
circumstances would seem to have rendered somewhat urgent."

They were words that lifted an intolerable burden from Sir Harry's
shoulders.

In immense relief, eager now to make an end, he looked to right and
left. Everywhere he met nodding heads and murmurs of "Yes, Yes."
Everywhere with one exception. Sir Terence, white to the lips, gave
no sign of assent, and yet dared give none of dissent. The eye of Lord
Wellington was upon him, compelling him by its eagle glance.

"We are clearly agreed," the president began, but Captain Tremayne
interrupted him.

"But you are wrongly agreed."

"Sir, sir!"

"You shall listen. It is infamous that I should owe my acquittal to the
sacrifice of this lady's good name."

"Damme! That is a matter that any parson can put right," said his
lordship.

"Your lordship is mistaken," Captain Tremayne insisted, greatly daring.
"The honour of this lady is more dear to me than my life."

"So we perceive," was the dry rejoinder. "These outbursts do you a
certain credit, Captain Tremayne. But they waste the time of the court."

And then the president made his announcement

"Captain Tremayne, you are acquitted of the charge of killing Count
Samoval, and you are at liberty to depart and to resume your usual
duties. The court congratulates you and congratulates itself upon
having reached this conclusion in the case of an officer so estimable as
yourself."

"Ah, but, gentlemen, hear me yet a moment. You, my lord--"

"The court has pronounced. The matter is at an end," said Wellington,
with a shrug, and immediately upon the words he rose, and the court
rose with him. Immediately, with rattle of sabres and sabretaches, the
officers who had composed the board fell into groups and broke into
conversation out of a spirit of consideration for Tremayne, and
definitely to mark the conclusion of the proceedings.

Tremayne, white and trembling, turned in time to see Miss Armytage
leaving the hall and assisting Colonel Grant to support Lady O'Moy, who
was in a half-swooning condition.

He stood irresolute, prey to a torturing agony of mind, cursing himself
now for his silence, for not having spoken the truth and taken the
consequences together with Dick Butler. What was Dick Butler to him,
what was his own life to him--if they should they should demand it for
the grave breach of duty he had committed