my spirits to-day. It is something to have brought the
murderer to the punishment that he deserves. But the knowledge that this
most righteous act of retribution is accomplished brings no consolation
with it. The law does indeed punish Noah Truscott for his crime, but
can it raise up Mary Mallinson from her last resting-place in the
churchyard?

While writing of the law, I ought to record that the heartless wretch
who allowed Mary to be struck down in his presence without making an
attempt to defend her is not likely to escape with perfect impunity.
The policeman who looked after him to insure his attendance at the trial
discovered that he had committed past offenses, for which the law can
make him answer. A summons was executed upon him, and he was taken
before the magistrate the moment he left the court after giving his
evidence.

I had just written these few lines, and was closing my journal, when
there came a knock at the door. I answered it, thinking that Robert had
called on his way home to say good-night, and found myself face to face
with a strange gentleman, who immediately asked for Anne Rodway. On
hearing that I was the person inquired for, he requested five minutes'
conversation with me. I showed him into the little empty room at the
back of the house, and waited, rather surprised and fluttered, to hear
what he had to say.

He was a dark man, with a serious manner, and a short, stern way of
speaking I was certain that he was a stranger, and yet there seemed
something in his face not unfamiliar to me. He began by taking a
newspaper from his pocket, and asking me if I was the person who
had given evidence at the trial of Noah Truscott on a charge of
manslaughter. I answered immediately that I was.

"I have been for nearly two years in London seeking Mary Mallinson, and
always seeking her in vain," he said. "The first and only news I have
had of her I found in the newspaper report of the trial yesterday."

He still spoke calmly, but there was something in the look of his eyes
which showed me that he was suffering in spirit. A sudden nervousness
overcame me, and I was obliged to sit down.

"You knew Mary Mallinson, sir?" I asked, as quietly as I could.

"I am her brother."

I clasped my hands and hid my face in despair. Oh, the bitterness of
heart with which I heard him say those simple words!

"You were very kind to her," said the calm, tearless man. "In her name
and for her sake, I thank you."