er he had carefully written down her name, "about nine
o'clock?"

"Oh yes, Mr Morgan," said the poor lady; "we were at St Roque's
Cottage drinking tea with Mrs Bland, who was lodging with Mrs Smith in
the same rooms Mrs Rider used to have. I put the note of invitation in
my pocket in case there should be any doubt; but, indeed, poor Mrs
Bland was taken very ill on the 16th, and Dr Marjoribanks was called,
and he knows it could not be any other evening--and besides--"

"About nine o'clock," said Mr Waters; "did I understand you, it was
about nine o'clock?"

"She was such an invalid, poor dear," said Miss Hemmings,
apologetically; "and it is such a privilege to have real Christian
conversation. We dined early on purpose, and we were asked for
half-past six. I think it must have been a little after nine; but Mary
is here, and she knows what hour she came for us. Shall I call Mary,
please?"

"Presently," said the counsel for the prosecution. "Don't be
agitated; one or two questions will do. You passed Mrs Hadwin's door
coming up. Will you kindly tell the gentlemen what you saw there?"

"Oh!" cried Miss Hemmings. She looked round at the Curate again, and
he was more than ever like Willie who died. "I--I don't take much
notice of what I see in the streets," she said, faltering; "and there
are always so many poor people going to see Mr Wentworth." Here the
poor lady stopped short. She had never considered before what harm her
evidence might do. Now her heart smote her for the young man who was
like Willie. "He is so very kind to all the poor people," continued
the unwilling witness, looking doubtfully round into all the faces
near her; "and he's such a young man," she added, in her tremulous
way. It was Miss Sophia who was strong-minded; all the poor women in
Back Grove Street were perfectly aware that their chances were doubled
when they found Miss Jane.

"But you must tell us what you saw all the same," said Dr Marjoribanks.
"I daresay Mr Wentworth wishes it as much as we do."

The Curate got up and came forward with one of his impulses. "I wish
it a great deal more," he said. "My dear Miss Hemmings, thank you for
your reluctance to say anything to harm me; but the truth can't
possibly harm me: tell them exactly what you saw."

Miss Hemmings looked from one to another, and trembled more and more. "I
am sure I never meant to injure Mr Wentworth," she said; "I only said I
thought it was imprudent of him--that was all