"The young Zane had gratified a wilful passion to penetrate the residence of his father, and look at its inmates and the situation from safe harborage there. He found that Donovan in his roving sailor's life had played the crippled sea beggar in the streets of British cities, tying up his natural leg and fitting a wooden leg to the knee--a trick well known to British ballad singers. That leg was in Donovan's sea-chest, as it had been left in this city, and also the crutch necessary to walk with it. Mr. Zane and Donovan had exchanged the leg and crutch, and the former matched his fellow with a wig and patches. Thus convertible, they had for a little while deceived everybody, but for further convenience Mr. Zane ensconced himself as a tenant in a neighboring house, and when the apparatus was in request by Donovan, he crossed on the roofs between the trap-doors, and still was master of his residence." "What does all this disclose but the intrigue of despairing guilt?" exclaimed young Van de Lear. "He had destroyed the purity of a lady and abandoned her, and was afraid to show his real face in Kensington." "We will see as to that," replied Duff Salter. "I had hoped to respect the lady's privacy, but Mr. Zane has refused to testify. Call Agnes Wilt." All in the magistrate's office rose at the mention of this name, only Andrew Zane keeping his seat amid the crowd. Calvin Van de Lear officiously sought to assist the witness in, but Duff Salter pressed him back and gave the sad and beautiful woman his arm. She was sworn, and stood there blushing and pale by turns. "What is your name?" asked Duff Salter gently. "Speak very plain, so that all these good friends of yours may make no mistake." "My name," replied the lady, "is Agnes Zane. I am the wife of Mr. Andrew Zane." "Very good," said Duff Salter soothingly. "You are the wife of Andrew Zane; wedded how long ago, madam?" "Eight months." "Do you see any person in this court-room, Mrs. Zane, that you wish to identify? Let all be seated." Poor Agnes looked timidly around the place, and saw a person, at whom all were gazing, rise and reach his arms toward her. "Gracious God!" she whispered, "is it he?" "It is, dear wife," cried Andrew Zane. "Come to my heart." CHAPTER X. THE SECRET MARRIAGE. Reverend Silas Van de Lear was drawing his latest breaths in the house of one of his elder sons, and only his lips were seen to move in silent prayer, when a younger fellow-clergyman entering, to a cluster of his cloth attending there, said audibly: "This is a strange _denouement_ to the great Kensington scandal, which has happened this afternoon." The large, voluptuous lady with the slowly declining eyelids raised them quietly as in languid surprise. "You mean the Zane murder? What is it?" asked a minister, while others gathered around, showing the ministry to have human curiosity even in the hour and article of death.