inutes there was no coughing and scarcely any moving. The silence
in the court was vital. During it, Dion stared hard at the jury and
strove to read the verdict in their faces. Naturally he failed. No
message came from them to him.

The Judge came back to the bench, looking weary and harsh.

"Do you find that the respondent has been guilty or not guilty of
misconduct with the co-respondent, Hadi Bey?" said the clerk of the
court.

"We find that the respondent has not been guilty of misconduct with Hadi
Bey."

After a slight pause, speaking in a louder voice than before, the clerk
of the court said:

"Do you find that the respondent has been guilty or not guilty of
misconduct with the co-respondent, Aristide Dumeny?"

"We find that the respondent has not been guilty of misconduct with
Aristide Dumeny."

Dion saw the Judge frown.

Slight applause broke out in the court, but it was fitful and uncertain
and almost immediately died away.

Mrs. Chetwinde said in a low voice, almost as if to herself:

"Cynthia has got what she wants--again."

Then, after the formalities, the crowd was in movement; the weary and
excited people, their curiosity satisfied at last, began to melt away;
the young barristers hurried out, eagerly discussing the rights and
wrongs of the case; and Mrs. Clarke's adherents made their way to her to
offer her their congratulations.

Daventry was triumphant. He shook his client's hand, held it, shook
it again, and could scarcely find words to express his excitement and
delight. Even Esme Darlington's usual careful serenity was for the
moment obscured by an emotion eminently human, as he spoke into Mrs.
Clarke's ear the following words of a ripe wisdom:

"Cynthia, my dear, after this do take my advice and live as others live.
In a conventional world conventionality is the line of least resistance.
Don't turn to the East unless the whole congregation does it."

"I shall never forget your self-sacrifice in facing the crowd with me
to-day, dear Esme," was her answer. "I know how much it cost you."

"Oh, as to that, for an old friend--h'm, ha!"

His voice failed in his beard. He drew forth a beautiful Indian
handkerchief--a gift from his devoted friend the Viceroy of India--and
passed it over a face which looked unusually old.

Mrs. Chetwinde said:

"I expected you to win, Cynthia. It was stupid of the jury to be so
slow in arriving at the inevitable verdict. But stupid people are as
letha