self in a hot and crowded court,
pitilessly stared at, confronted by the man who was in fact her father's
murderer, and closely questioned by the magistrate about all the details
of that Sunday evening, her overtasked strength gave way suddenly.

She had told clearly and distinctly about the meeting at Greyshot, and
had stated positively that in the Ashborough market place she had seen
Drosser give her father a heavy blow and then push him down the Town
Hall steps.

"Can you recollect whether others pushed your father at the same time?"
asked the magistrate. "Don't answer hurriedly; this is an important
matter."

All at once the whole scene came vividly before Erica the huge crowd,
the glare of the lights, her father standing straight and tall, as she
should never see him again, his thick white hair stirred by the wind,
his whole attitude that of indignant protest; then the haggard face of
the fanatic, the surging movement in the black mass of people, and that
awful struggle and fall. Was it he who was falling? If so she was surely
with him, falling down, down, endlessly down.

There was a sudden stir and commotion in the court, a murmur of pity,
for Luke Raeburn's daughter had fallen back senseless.

When she came to herself, she was lying on the floor of an office-like
room, with her head on Mrs. MacNaughton's lap. Brian was bending over
her, chafing her hands. A clock in the building struck one, and the
sound seemed to recall things to her mind. She started up.

"Oh!" she cried, "why am I not with my father? Where have you taken me
to?"

"It's all right, dear," said Mrs. MacNaughton soothingly; "you shall come
back directly you are well enough."

"I remember it all now," she said; "did I finish? Must I go back there?"

It was some relief to know that Donovan had been able to supplement her
evidence, and that the examination was in fact over, Drosser having been
remanded for a week. She insisted on going back to the hotel at once,
and spent the whole of the afternoon and evening with her father. He was
not in great pain now, but very restless, and growing weaker every hour.
He was able, however, to see several of his friends, and though the
farewells evidently tried him, he would not refuse to see those who had
come hundreds of miles for that last glimpse.

"What does it matter if I am exhausted?" he said when some one
remonstrated with him. "It will make no difference at all as far as I
am concerned, and