known and grown familiar with that face, which, so far as he
could remember, he had never seen before, but which belonged to the man
who bore his own name?

When the counsel for the prosecution had turned the unfortunate witness
outside in, and proved that he knew nothing and had seen nobody: and
that, besides, he was a man totally unworthy of credit, who had lied
from his cradle, and whose own mother and friends put no trust in him,
the court adjourned for lunch. But Philip forgot that he required any
lunch. His mind was filled with echoes of that name. He began to feel a
strange certainty that it was the same man who had fixed him with the
same gaze in the theatre. Who was Mr. Compton, and what was he? The
question took the boy's breath away.

He sat through the interval, finding a place where he could see better,
through the kind offices of the usher to whom Simmons had commended him,
and waiting with impatience till the trial should be resumed. Nobody
remarked the boy among the crowd of the ordinary public, many of whom
remained, as he did, to see it out, Philip cared nothing about Brown:
all that he wanted to know was about this namesake of his--this Compton,
this other man, who was not Brown. If it was the man with the opera-glass,
he was not so much excited as his young namesake, for he went to
luncheon with the rest; while the boy remained counting the minutes,
eager to begin the story, the drama, again. The impression left,
however, on Philip's impartial mind was that the last witness, though
driven and badgered out of what wits he had by the examination, had
really seen a man whom he perfectly knew, his recognition of whom was
not really affected either by the twilight or the disguise.

The thrill of interest which he felt running through all his veins as
the court filled again was like, but stronger than, the interest with
which he had ever seen the curtain rise in the theatre. His heart beat:
he felt as if in some sort it was his own fate that was going to be
decided: all his prepossessions were in favour of that other accused,
yet not openly accused, person who was not Brown; and yet he felt almost
as sure as if he had been there that the office boy of twenty years ago
had seen that man stealing in at the side door.

Young Philip did not catch the name of the next witness who was called;
such a thing will happen sometimes even with the quickest ear at a
moment when every whisper is important. If he had h