e had to say, but that little sent him up high in the social
scale during those days. He lived at Kennington, and he was asked
out to dinner in that neighbourhood every day for a week running, on
the score of his connection with the great Orley Farm case. Bridget
Bolster was still down at the hotel in the West of England, and
being of a solid, sensible, and somewhat unimaginative turn of mind,
probably went through her duties to the last without much change of
manner. But the effect of the coming scenes upon poor John Kenneby
was terrible. It was to him as though for the time they had made of
him an Atlas, and compelled him to bear on his weak shoulders the
weight of the whole world. Men did talk much about Lady Mason and the
coming trial; but to him it seemed as though men talked of nothing
else. At Hubbles and Grease's it was found useless to put figures
into his hands till all this should be over. Indeed it was doubted
by many whether he would ever recover his ordinary tone of mind.
It seemed to be understood that he would be cross-examined by
Chaffanbrass, and there were those who thought that John Kenneby
would never again be equal to a day's work after that which he would
then be made to endure. That he would have been greatly relieved
could the whole thing have been wiped away from him there can
be no manner of doubt; but I fancy that he would also have been
disappointed. It is much to be great for a day, even though the day's
greatness should cause the shipwreck of a whole life.

"I shall endeavour to speak the truth," said John Kenneby, solemnly.

"The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth," said
Moulder.

"Yes, Moulder, that will be my endeavour; and then I may lay my hand
upon my bosom and think that I have done my duty by my country." And
as Kenneby spoke he suited the action to the word.

"Quite right, John," said Mrs. Smiley. "Them's the sentiments of
a man, and I, as a woman having a right to speak where you are
concerned, quite approve of them."

"They'll get nothing but the truth out of John," said Mrs. Moulder;
"not if he knows it." These last words she added, actuated by
admiration of what she had heard of Mr. Chaffanbrass, and perhaps
with some little doubt as to her brother's firmness.

"That's where it is," said Moulder. "Lord bless you, John, they'll
turn you round their finger like a bit of red tape. Truth! Gammon!
What do they care for truth?"

"But I care, Moulder," said Ke