There was not a dissentient voice. Abel Dell and Bartholomew Wrigley were both committed for trial; and Mary made quite a sensation by rising in the court as the prisoners were about to be removed, and forcing her way to where she could catch her brother's hand. "Abe," she cried, passionately, "I didn't. I didn't, indeed. Say good-bye." He turned upon her fiercely, and snatched his hand away. "Go to your captain," he said, savagely. "I shall be out of the way now." An ordinary woman would have shrunk away sobbing; but as Mary was flung off, she caught at Bart's wrist, and clung to that. "Bart, I didn't! I didn't!" she whispered, hoarsely. "Tell him I wouldn't--I couldn't do such a thing. It isn't true!" Bart's face puckered up, and he looked tenderly down in the agitated face before him. "Well, lass," he said, softly, "I believe--" "That you turned against us!" interposed Abel, savagely, for his temper, consequent upon the way matters had gone against him, was all on edge. "Come on, Bart; she'll have her own way now." A constable's hand was on each of their shoulders, and they were hurried out of court, leaving Mary standing frowning alone, the observed of all. Her handsome face flushed, and she drew herself up proudly, as she cast a haughtily defiant look at all around, and was about to walk away when her eyes lighted upon the captain, who was seated by the magisterial bench, side by side with his richly-dressed lady. There was a vindictive glare in Mary Dell's eyes as she encountered the gaze of Mistress Armstrong, the lady looking upon her as a strange, dangerous kind of creature. "Why should she not suffer as I suffer?" thought Mary. "Poor, weak, dressed-up doll that she is! I could sting her to the heart easy. How I hate her, for she has robbed me of a husband!" But the next moment the lady withdrew her gaze with a shiver of dread from the eyes which had seemed to scorch her; and Mary's now lit upon those of Captain Armstrong, for he was watching her curiously, and with re-awakened interest. Mary's face changed again its expression, as light seemed to enter her darkened soul. "He used to love me a little. He would not be so cruel as that. I offended him, because I was so hard and--cruel he called it. He would listen to me now. I will, I will." She gazed at him fixedly for a moment, and then hurried from the court. "What a dreadful-looking woman, Jemmy!" whispered Mistress Armstrong. "She quite made me shudder. Will they hang her too?" "No, no," he said, rising quickly and drawing a long breath. Then, recollecting himself, he sat down again as if in pain, and held out his hand to his wife, who supported him to the carriage, into which he ascended slowly. "Sorry for you, Armstrong; deuced sorry, egad," said the senior magistrate, coming up to the carriage door. "Can't help feeling glad too." "Oh, Sir Timothy!" cried Mistress Armstrong, who was a seventeenth cousin.