their places on the witness's bench, at the right
side of the court-room.

Herbert watched Old Hurricane, whose eyes were spellbound to the bench
where sat Mrs. Rocke and Clara. Both were dressed in deep mourning,
with their veils down and their faces toward the judge. But Herbert
dreaded every instant that Marah Rocke should turn her head and meet
that fixed, wistful look of Old Hurricane. And he wondered what strange
instinct it could be that riveted the old man's regards to that
unrecognized woman.

At last, to Herbert's great uneasiness, Major Warfield turned and
commenced questioning him:

"Who is that woman in mourning?"

"Hem--m--that one with the flaxen curls under her bonnet is Miss Day."

"I don't mean the girl, I mean the woman sitting by her?"

"That is--hem--hem--that is Doctor Williams sitting--"

Old Hurricane turned abruptly around and favored his nephew with a
severe, scrutinizing gaze, demanding:

"Herbert, have you been drinking so early in the morning? Demmy, sir,
this is not the season for mint juleps before breakfast! Is that great,
stout, round-bodied, red-faced old Doctor Williams a little woman? I
see him sitting on the right of Miss Day. I didn't refer to him! I
referred to that still, quiet little woman sitting on her left, who has
never stirred hand or foot since she sat down there. Who is she?"

"That woman? Oh, she?--yes--ah, let me see--she is a--Miss Day's
companion!" faltered Herbert.

"To the demon with you! Who does not see that? But who is she? What is
her name?" abruptly demanded Old Hurricane.

"Her name is a--a--did you ever see her before, sir?"

"I don't know! That is what I am trying to remember; but, sir, will you
answer my question?"

"You seem very much interested in her."

"You seem very much determined not to let me know who she is! Hang it,
sir, will you or will you not tell me that woman's name?"

"Certainly," said Herbert. "Her name is"--He was about to say Marah
Rocke, but moral indignation overpowered him and he paused.

"Well, well, her name is what?" impatiently demanded Old Hurricane.

"Mrs. Warfield!" answered Herbert, doggedly.

And just at that unfortunate moment Marah turned her pale face and
beseeching eyes around and met the full gaze of her husband!

In an instant her face blanched to marble and her head sank upon the
railing before her bench. Old Hurricane was too dark to grow pale, but
his bronzed cheek turned as gray as his hair, whi