t in Parliament, who had prided himself on living with the
best of his fellow-creatures, who had been the friend of Mr. Monk and
of Lord Cantrip, the trusted intimate of such women as Lady Laura
and Lady Chiltern, who had never put his hand to a mean action, or
allowed his tongue to speak a mean word! He laughed in his wrath, and
then almost howled in his agony. He thought of the young loving wife
who had lived with him little more than for one fleeting year, and
wondered whether she was looking down upon him from Heaven, and how
her spirit would bear this accusation against the man upon whose
bosom she had slept, and in whose arms she had gone to her long rest.
"They can't believe it," he said aloud. "It is impossible. Why should
I have murdered him?" And then he remembered an example in Latin
from some rule of grammar, and repeated it to himself over and over
again.--"No one at an instant,--of a sudden,--becomes most base." It
seemed to him that there was such a want of knowledge of human nature
in the supposition that it was possible that he should have committed
such a crime. And yet--there he was, committed to take his trial for
the murder of Mr. Bonteen.

The days were long, and it was daylight till nearly nine. Indeed the
twilight lingered, even through those iron bars, till after nine. He
had once asked for candles, but had been told that they could not be
allowed him without an attendant in the room,--and he had dispensed
with them. He had been treated doubtless with great respect, but
nevertheless he had been treated as a prisoner. They hardly denied
him anything that he asked, but when he asked for that which they did
not choose to grant they would annex conditions which induced him to
withdraw his request. He understood their ways now, and did not rebel
against them.

On a sudden he heard the key in the door, and the man who attended
him entered the room with a candle in his hand. A lady had come to
call, and the governor had given permission for her entrance. He
would return for the light,--and for the lady, in half an hour. He
had said all this before Phineas could see who the lady was. And when
he did see the form of her who followed the gaoler, and who stood
with hesitating steps behind him in the doorway, he knew her by her
sombre solemn raiment, and not by her countenance. She was dressed
from head to foot in the deepest weeds of widowhood, and a heavy veil
fell from her bonnet over her face. "Lady L