he congratulations of his friends behind him and the cordial nods of
some of the superior people who had been favored with seats at the right
hand and left of the judge. He was answering in a loud tone, when there
was a sudden lull of the buzz of gossip, and all eyes were directed
toward one end of the table.

Hugh Ritson had risen from his seat, and with a face that was very pale,
but as firm as a rock, he was engaged in a whispered conference with the
plaintiff's counsel. That gentleman's eager face betrayed the keenest
possible interest in what he heard. Presently he lifted his arm with an
impatient gesture, and said:

"My lord, I have unexpectedly come into possession of new and most
important evidence."

"Of what nature?" asked the judge.

"If it is conceivable," said counsel, "that in any question of personal
identity the court will accept the evidence of all the tinkers and
tailors, the riff-raff, the raggabash of the country-side, and reject
that of the wife of the man whose estate is in question, perhaps it will
be allowed that there are three persons who are essential to this
examination--the brother of Paul Ritson, the defendant who claims to be
Paul Ritson, and the convict who is suffering penal servitude in the
name of Paul Drayton. I might name one other whose evidence might be yet
more conclusive than that of any of these alone--the mother of Paul
Ritson; but she is unhappily dead to the world."

Drayton was still on his feet, riveted to the spot where he stood.
Obtuse as he was, he saw at a glance what had occurred. In all his
calculations this chance had never suggested itself--that Hugh Ritson
would risk the personal danger to bring him down.

"Can you put these persons into the witness-box?"

"My lord, it is, I presume, within the liberties of the defendant to
keep carefully out of that box, but the court will not refuse to hear
the evidence of the two persons of whom I speak--the brother of Paul
Ritson and the convict known as Paul Drayton."

At this there was high commotion. Greta had leaned back in her chair,
her bosom heaving, her face shadowed by lines of pain. Parson Christian
stood behind her with a blank expression of bewilderment. Drayton's
brows were tightened and his lips were drawn hard.

"None of their criss-crossin' for me," he muttered.

"You can ask for a new trial," said the judge.

"My lord, another case is pending, and on the issue in this case the
other case must large