hat Count
Jules St. Croix says is true; he found me in his room with the open
casket in my hand."

"You had gone there for the purpose of robbery?"

"I have not a word to answer."

"You can surely give some account of your presence there?"

The prisoner smiled again.

"I refuse to do so," he replied, with great firmness, yet courtesy of
manner.

"Then I must commit you for trial," said the magistrate. "Have you no
witnesses to bring forward in your own defense now, as to character--no
referees?" he continued.

"None," was the quiet reply.

"I am sorry," said Mr. Kent; "to see one who is so evidently a
gentleman and a man of education in such a position."

But there was no shame in the handsome face; none in the proud eyes. He
raised his head with haughty grace and made no reply.

"I can take bail," said Mr, Kent, but the prisoner said, "I have none to
offer."

Then was the good magistrate puzzled. He had no resource but to commit
the young man to take his trial at the Sessions. Yet looking at the
clear, aristocratic face, and the firm, proud lips, he could have sworn
that the prisoner was perfectly innocent of the theft.

He read pride, honesty, loyalty and chivalry in the face, yet there was
nothing left for him to do but to commit him.

He looked very grave as he did so, and then John Smith was taken away by
the policeman. As he left the dock he turned to his accuser, the Count
St. Croix, who stood there with a dark frown on his face; he looked at
him for one moment, then waved his hand, as one who had won a great
victory.

"I have conquered," he said, and the count's sallow face grew pale with
rage,

"Curse you," he said, between his teeth, "I should like to stand with my
foot on your neck."

CHAPTER II.

The Sentence.

John Smith--for the prisoner was known by no other name--lay in prison
until the time for him trial. He had not long to wait, but he made no
complaint. He seemed perfectly at his ease--much more so than was Mr.
Kent. In vain the good magistrate said to himself that it was no
business of his; that he had nothing whatever to do with the case, he
had simply performed his duty--done what was required of him. Yet he
could not feel satisfied; he was sure there was a mystery, and he longed
to fathom it.

He resolved to go and see the young man, and ask him more questions, to
try to ascertain who he really was. He went to his cell and the prisoner
looked at him in utter sur