e him.

"Call another juror," he said, passing the list to Goodlaw, who also
struck a name from it, added a new one, and passed it back.

The jury was finally settled, the challenged men were excused, and the
remaining twelve were duly sworn.

Then Sharpman arose to open his case. With rapid detail he went over
the history of Ralph's life from the time of the railroad accident
to the day of the trial. He dwelt upon Simon Craft's kindness to the
child, upon his energetic search for the unknown parents, and, later,
for the boy himself; of his final success, of his constant effort in
Ralph's behalf, and his great desire, now, to help him into the family
and fortune to which his birth entitled him. "We shall show to you all
of these facts, gentlemen of the jury," said Sharpman, in conclusion.
"We shall prove to you, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that this boy is
Margaret Burnham's son and an heir to Robert Burnham's estates; and,
having done so, we shall expect a verdict at your hands."

The lawyer resumed his seat, spent a few moments looking over his
papers, and then said, in a tone of mingled respect and firmness:--

"We desire, if your Honor please, to call Mrs. Burnham for the purpose
of cross-examination."

"That is your privilege under the law," said the judge.

"Mrs. Burnham," continued Sharpman, "will you kindly take the stand?"

"Certainly," replied the lady.

She arose, advanced to the witness-stand, received the oath, and took
her chair with a matronly dignity and kindly grace that aroused the
sympathy and admiration of all who saw her. She gave her name, the
date of her marriage to Robert Burnham, the fact of his death, and the
names and ages of her children. In the course of the examination, she
was asked to describe the railway journey which ended in the disaster
at Cherry Brook, and to give the details of that disaster as she
remembered them.

"Can you not spare me that recital, sir?" she said.

"No one would be more willing or glad to do so, madam," responded
Sharpman, "than I, but the whole future of this fatherless boy is
hanging upon this examination, and I dare not do it. I will try to
make it easier for you, however, by interrogation."

She had hidden her face in her hands a moment before; now she raised
it, pallid, but fixed with strong determination.

"Go on," she said, "I will answer you."

Sharpman stood for a moment as if collecting his thoughts, then he
asked: "Did you and your h