rder out of this chaos."

There was so much resolve in his look, such a hint of promise in his
tone, that she flushed with something almost akin to hope.

"Oh, generous----" she began.

But he stopped her before she could say more.

"Wait," he repeated; "wait till we see what action will be taken by the
Grand Jury." And taking her hand, he looked earnestly, if not
passionately, in her face. "Imogene," he commenced, "if I should
succeed----" But there he himself stopped short with a quick recalling
of his own words, perhaps. "No," he cried, "I will say no more till we
see which of these two men is to be brought to trial." And, pressing her
hand to his lips, he gave her one last look in which was concentrated
all the secret passions which had been called forth by this hour, and
hastily left the room.

XXIV.

A TRUE BILL.

Come to me, friend or foe,
And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick.--HENRY VI.

THE town of Sibley was in a state of excitement. About the court-house
especially the crowd was great and the interest manifested intense. The
Grand Jury was in session, and the case of the Widow Clemmens was before
it.

As all the proceedings of this body are private, the suspense of those
interested in the issue was naturally very great. The name of the man
lastly suspected of the crime had transpired, and both Hildreth and
Mansell had their partisans, though the mystery surrounding the latter
made his friends less forward in asserting his innocence than those of
the more thoroughly understood Hildreth. Indeed, the ignorance felt on
all sides as to the express reasons for associating the name of Mrs.
Clemmens' nephew with his aunt's murder added much to the significance
of the hour. Conjectures were plenty and the wonder great, but the
causes why this man, or any other, should lie under a suspicion equal to
that raised against Hildreth at the inquest was a mystery that none
could solve.

But what is the curiosity of the rabble to us? Our interest is in a
little room far removed from this scene of excitement, where the young
daughter of Professor Darling kneels by the side of Imogene Dare,
striving by caress and entreaty to win a word from her lips or a glance
from her heavy eyes.

"Imogene," she pleaded,--"Imogene, what is this terrible grief? Why did
you have to go to the court-house this morning with papa, and why have
you been almost dead with terror and misery ever since you