ark?" observed Mr. Woodstock, who
had listened with a show of indifference. "Well, I have no more time at
present. Look the thing up, Helter."

On reaching home, Waymark wrote a few lines to Ida, merely to say that
Grim was provided for, and assure her that she was not forgotten. In a
day or two he received a reply. The official envelope almost startled
him at first. Inside was written this:

"You have been kind. I thank you for everything. Try to think kindly of
me, whatever happens; I shall be conscious of it, and it will give me
strength.

I. S."

The week went by, and Ida again appeared in court. Mr. Woodstock went
with Waymark, out of curiosity, he said. The statement of the case
against the prisoner sounded very grave. What Harriet had said about
the discovery of the pawn-ticket for her silver spoon was true. Ida's
face was calm, but paler yet and thinner. When she caught sight of
Harriet Casti, she turned her eyes away quickly, and with a look of
trouble. She desired to ask no question, simply gave her low and
distinct "Not guilty." She was committed for trial.

Waymark watched Mr. Woodstock, who was examining Ida all the time; he
felt sure that he heard something like a catching of the breath when
the girl's face first became visible.

"And what's your opinion?" asked Waymark.

"I couldn't see the girl very well," said the old man coldly.

"She hasn't quite a fortnight to wait."

"No."

"You're sure Helter will do all that can be done?"

"Yes."

Mr. Woodstock nodded his head, and walked off by himself.

Julian Casti was ill. With difficulty he had dragged himself to the
court, and his sufferings as he sat there were horribly evident on his
white face. Waymark met him just as Mr. Woodstock walked off; and the
two went home together by omnibus, not speaking on the way.

"She will be convicted," was Julian's first utterance, when he had sat
for a few minutes in Waymark's room, whilst Waymark himself paced up
and down. The latter turned, and saw that tears were on his friend's
hollow cheeks.

"Did you sleep better last night?" he asked.

"Good God, no! I never closed my eyes. That's the third night without
rest. Waymark, get me an opiate of some kind, or I shall kill myself;
and let me sleep here."

"What will your wife say?"

"What do I care what she says!" cried Julian, with sudden excitement,
his muscles quivering, and his cheeks flaming all at once. "Don't use
that word 'wife,' it is