The lawyer saw that there was a great and terrible probability that the course he proposed to pursue--the only one open to him--would not be successful. A sort of intuitive feeling that it was a desperate game, came upon him. There was a want of confidence in the arrangement; a want of trust in his own powers to carry it out successfully, which oppressed him. The truth was, it was what may be termed a mixed case. He was certain of the innocence of his client, yet he was obliged to pursue as tortuous a course as if his client had been guilty. The combination perplexed him. Could he have met the charge with a bold and open defence, with no concealment, with no reserve, he would have found no difficulty. Had he only had to make the best of a bad case by legal skill, he might have disliked the task, without any apprehensions of the result. But now to defend a just cause insincerely; to prove the innocence of his friend, without showing the guilt of that friend's brother; to keep back portions of the truth, when the whole truth, if it could be proved, was Chandos Winslow's best defence, puzzled and cowed him. Chandos was filled with very different feelings; and I much doubt whether I shall be able to convey to the reader any adequate idea of his sensations at that moment. A sort of despair had come over him--a self-abandonment--a loss of the bright hopes and strong aspirations which had lately supported him--a paralysation of some of the great energies of his nature; while others--the powers of passive endurance--seemed strengthened and acuminated. He was disinclined to struggle further with fate. Fortune had proved so adverse, whichever way he turned, that he hoped not for her favour; and he was unwilling for a bare chance to expose her he loved to all the pain and grief of a public examination in a court of justice; to the badgering of rude second-class lawyers; and, perhaps, to insinuations which he would rather have died himself than have brought upon her head. After a long silence, then, he tried to explain his feelings to his companion; said he would rather not subject Rose to such agitation and distress; that he was ready to rest upon his own innocence, and to endure the worst, if that did not avail him. But the barrister shook his head. "Not so, Chandos," he said, rising and taking his hat. "I will see Miss Tracy. I will ascertain her own views. Afterwards, I will frame your defence as best I can, upon the grounds laid down. But mark me, my good friend, I have a duty to God and my own conscience to perform; and if I should fail of convincing the jury of your innocence, I will tell the whole to the advisers of her majesty." "But you have promised--you have pledged your honour!" cried Chandos. The barrister wrung his hand hard. "Remind me of that afterwards," he said, "and I will prove my confidence in your innocence by fighting you." Without waiting for a word of reply, he retired. CHAPTER XXIV.