he magistrate, "that he has concealed his
identity."

"I cannot tell; I think it doubtful."

"Well, whatever comes, I shall always he grateful to you, Mr. Kent, for
your interest in me."

"I am sorry you will not trust me," said the magistrate, rising to leave
the cell.

"I am still more sorry that I cannot," was the reply, and then the
prisoner was left alone.

He did not look much like a thief; there was a light on his face such as
one sees in the pictures of the martyrs, a clear fire in the gray eyes.

"My ancestors have smiled with their heads on a block," he said.
"Surely, with such a motive, I may bear six months of prison."

The day of his trial came. The report of it in the papers read as
follows:

"John Smith, aged twenty, occupation unknown, was charged by Count Jules
St. Croix with stealing from his room an ivory casket, containing a
watch and an antique ring of great value. The prisoner, who refused to
give any account of himself, pleaded guilty; he made no defence, and had
retained no counsel. The judge made a few remarks to the effect that it
was very hard to see a young man, evidently possessed of some education
and refinement, in such a position, then sentenced him to six months'
imprisonment without hard labor. Prisoner made no remark, and was then
removed."

The papers did not tell of a little incident that occurred, simply
because the reporters did not know it. During the hearing of the case,
which did not last long, one of the leading barristers, Mr. Macfarlane,
sat with his eyes riveted on the prisoner's face, his own growing very
pale and anxious; then he wrote a little note, which he dispatched by a
messenger, who soon returned, accompanied by Mr. Forster, one of the
most celebrated lawyers in Lincoln's Inn.

He spoke a few words to Mr. Macfarlane.

"Nonsense!" he said; "the idea is incredible, impossible, even. What can
have made you think of such a thing?"

"Stand here in my place; you cannot see over all those heads. Now look
well at him. Am I right or wrong?"

A strange gray look came over Mr. Forster's face.

"I--I believe you are right," he said. "My God! what can this mean?"

"Look now! his face is turned this way! Look!" cried Mr. Macfarlane,
eagerly.

"It is he!" cried the lawyer, and he stood like one turned to stone,
then recovering himself, he said quickly:

"Why is he here? What is he charged with?"

Mr. Macfarlane whispered into the lawyer's ear:

"With stea