eeting a
young widow, the wealth of whose stockbroking husband would be exactly
what his business and estate required, and would pay off all his debts.

Phoebe saw indications on Mervyn's countenance which made it no surprise
that he was in such a condition in the morning that only copious loss of
blood and the most absolute rest to the last moment enabled him to go to
W--- for the trial. Miss Charlecote had undertaken the care of Bertha,
that Miss Fennimore might take charge of Maria, who was exceedingly eager
to see her brother and sister give evidence.

There is no need to dwell on the proceedings. It was to Phoebe on a
larger scale what she had previously gone through. She was too much
occupied with the act before God and her neighbour to be self-conscious,
or to think of the multitudes eagerly watching her young simple face, or
listening to her grave clear tones. A dim perception crossed Lady
Bannerman's mind that there really might be something in little Phoebe
when she found the sheriff's wife, the _grande dame_ of the hunting
field, actually shedding tears of emotion.

As soon as Mervyn's own evidence had been given he had been obliged to go
to the inn and lie down; and Phoebe wished to join him there and go home
at once. Both Robert and Sir John Raymond were waiting for her at the
door of the witness-box, and the latter begged to introduce the sheriff,
who pressed her to let him take her back into court to Lady Bannerman,
his wife wished so much to see her there and at luncheon. And when
Phoebe declared that she must return to her brother, she was told that it
had been settled that she was to come with Sir Nicholas and Lady
Bannerman to dine and sleep at the sheriff's next day, after the assize
was over, to meet the judges.

Phoebe was almost desperate in her refusals, and was so little believed
after all, that she charged Robert--when the sheriff had taken leave--to
assure Augusta of the impossibility of her accepting the invitation. Sir
John smiled, saying, 'Lady Caroline scarcely deserved her,' and added,
'Here is another who wishes to shake hands with you, and this time I
promise that you shall not be persecuted--my brother.'

He was a thin, spare man, who might have been taken for the elder
brother, with a gentle, dreamy expression and soft, tender voice, such as
she could not imagine being able to cope with pupils. He asked after her
brother's health, and she offered to ascertain whether Mervy