sconcerted by an appeal to his memory so far back as
twenty-three years; but after taking some time to consider, during which
the agitation of the usually cold and possessed Brandon was remarkable
to all the court, he declared that he recollected no transaction
whatsoever with the witness at that time. In vain were all Brandon's
efforts to procure a more elucidatory answer. The pawnbroker was
impenetrable, and the lawyer was compelled reluctantly to dismiss
him. The moment the witness left the box, Brandon sank into a gloomy
abstraction,--he seemed quite to forget the business and the duties of
the court; and so negligently did he continue to conclude the case, so
purposeless was the rest of his examination and cross-examination, that
the cause was entirely marred, and a verdict "Not guilty" returned by
the jury.

The moment he left the court, Brandon repaired to the pawnbroker's; and
after a conversation with Mr. Swoppem, in which he satisfied that honest
tradesman that his object was rather to reward than intimidate, Swoppem
confessed that twenty-three years ago the witness had met him at a
public-house in Devereux Court, in company with two other men, and sold
him several articles in plate, ornaments, etc. The great bulk of these
articles had, of course, long left the pawnbroker's abode; but he still
thought a stray trinket or two, not of sufficient worth to be reset or
remodelled, nor of sufficient fashion to find a ready sale, lingered in
his drawers. Eagerly, and with trembling hands, did Brandon toss over
the motley contents of the mahogany reservoirs which the pawnbroker now
submitted to his scrutiny. Nothing on earth is so melancholy a
prospect as a pawnbroker's drawer! Those little, quaint, valueless
ornaments,--those true-lovers' knots, those oval lockets, those battered
rings, girdled by initials, or some brief inscription of regard or of
grief,--what tales of past affections, hopes, and sorrows do they not
tell! But no sentiment of so general a sort ever saddened the hard mind
of William Brandon, and now less than at any time could such reflections
have occurred to him. Impatiently he threw on the table, one after
another, the baubles once hoarded perchance with the tenderest respect,
till at length his eyes sparkled, and with a nervous gripe he seized
upon an old ring which was inscribed with letters, and circled a heart
containing hair. The inscription was simply, "W. B. to Julia." Strange
and dark was th