ation (now given in full) was remarkable," wrote the
editor far away in New York, "it should not be forgotten that the
circumstances were remarkable as well. While reading it one should keep
clearly in mind the fact that the subject of it, namely, Captain
Heathcote, was, in the belief of both the speakers, dead. Had it not
been for this belief of theirs, these words would never have been
uttered. He was gone from earth forever--killed suddenly in battle. Such
a death brings the deepest feelings of the heart to the surface. Such a
death wrings out avowals which otherwise would never be made. Words can
be spoken over a coffin--where all is ended--which could never be spoken
elsewhere. Death brought together these two women, who seem to have
loved each other through and in spite of all. One has gone. And now the
menacing shadow of a far worse death has forced the other to come
forward, and go through a cruel ordeal, an ordeal which was, however,
turned into a triumph by the instant admiration which all rightly minded
persons gave to the pure, noble bravery which thus saved a life. For
although the verdict has not yet been given, the general opinion is that
this new testimony turned the scale, and that the accused man will be
acquitted."

But this prophecy was not fulfilled.

Five hours of waiting. Six hours. And now there came a stir. The jury
were returning; they had entered; they were in their places. Rachel
Bannert bent her face behind her open fan, that people should not see
how white it was. Miss Teller involuntarily rose. But as many had also
risen in the crowded room, which was not brightly lighted save round the
lawyers' tables, they passed unnoticed. The accused looked straight into
the faces of the jurors. He was quite calm; this part seemed far less
trying to him than that which had gone before.

And then it was told: they had neither convicted nor acquitted him. They
had disagreed.

Anne Douglas was not present. She was sitting alone in an unlighted
house on the other side of the little country square. Some one walking
up and down there, under the maples, had noticed, or rather divined, a
figure at the open window behind the muslin curtains of the dark room;
he knew that this figure was looking at the lights from the court-room
opposite, visible through the trees.

This man under the maples had no more intention of losing the final
moment than the most persistent countryman there. But being in the habit
o