‘My good fellow,’ he said, ‘you are indeed under some mistake, and you surely choose a strange place where to arrest me, and show little consideration for this lady’s feelings.’ ‘I’m sorry indeed, my lady,’ said the officer, as he bowed to Carrie; ‘but my business is to secure my prisoner.’ Phil stood up. ‘Of what crime am I accused, then, my good fellow?’ The man hesitated—glancing at Carrie, but Phil laughed. ‘My wife can hear aught I’m accused of,’ he said. ‘_Of the murder of Richard Meadowes_,’ said the man low into Philip’s ear. He did not mean Carrie to hear; but she, leaning forward, caught the words. There was a moment’s dismayed silence. Then Carrie shrieked aloud—three sharp little screams, and fell back against the pillows. ‘Come,’ said Philip, ‘I am ready to go with you.’ At the door he turned and came back to where Carrie lay, white and scared, staring after him. ‘’Tis some mistake, Carrie; have no fear,’ he said. ‘And, Peter, fetch me a coat and a pair of shoes.’ The day wore on somehow for Carrie after Phil’s arrest; she sat idle, hour by hour, looking for news of him and getting none. Late in the day she sent Peter out to make inquiries, but when he returned it was to bring her very scant comfort. ‘There was great excitement in town over the murder; nothing was known, no news was to be had,’ said Peter, but he concealed the half that he had really heard on all sides. Meantime Phil was detained for examination. ‘In prison—Phil in prison!’ cried poor Carrie incredulously. ‘Why, I thought to see him back ere half an hour had gone. O Peter, what can I do? ’Tis unbelievable.’ Peter was dumb with distress; he did not know what to think—the whole matter seemed to him like an ugly dream. ‘Mayhap Mr. Philip will return home on bail, madam,’ he said lamely, the only comfort he could suggest. ‘But that any one should even suppose him to have done it!’ sobbed Carrie. Ah, that was the sting. Poor Carrie was to weep many tears before she saw the end of this sad matter. CHAPTER XXXII The Courts were crowded on the day that Philip Meadowes stood his trial at the Old Bailey. The case attracted a vast deal of attention in its day, and if all the cross-questioning of Phil’s case were reported here, they would make a ponderous volume, that no one would ever finish. So the outlines of the trial must suffice for the story. ‘_How say you, Philip Richard William Meadowes, Are you Guilty of the felony and murder whereof you stand indicted, or Not guilty?_’ ‘_Not guilty._’ ‘_How will you be tried?_’ ‘_By God and my country._’ ‘_God send you a good deliverance._’ So ran the time-honoured prelude; and the listening crowds echoed the prayer, for Phil made a very interesting prisoner. He stood in the dock and looked round him, nodding to right and left as he recognised friends among the crowd, as easy and self-possessed as any man in the house.