A long conference followed; question after question was put and answered, and every paper looked into and explained, and the clock on the belfry-tower near by struck the hour of midnight before Earle’s strange visitor left him, and a handsome retaining fee as well. This he did not demand, but the man’s keen eyes had more than once rested on that empty pocket-book lying upon the table, and he doubtless knew that it would not come amiss. For the next four months Earle had no need to complain of a lack of work—night and day he toiled, quietly, steadily, persistently, a stern purpose visible in his face, a light in his fine eyes which meant “victory,” if such a result was possible. This case, which indeed proved a most perplexing one, he felt assured would either “make or mar” his whole future; and, if there was any such thing as winning, he was determined to conquer. It was to come to trial the first of October. He had had about four months to work it up in, and now, on the last night of September, he sat again alone in his office, with folded hands and weary brain, but with a smile of satisfaction lighting up his face instead of the weary expression of bitterness which rested there on that dreary night when he received his first visit from the thin-visaged, wiry man. He was reasonably sure of success, notwithstanding that the opposing counsel was one of the oldest and ablest lawyers in the city, and he was aware that if he gained the case against him he could not fail to be looked upon with respect for the future. It provided a tedious trial, for a whole week was occupied in hearing the case, and as point after point, cunning and complicated in the extreme, came up in opposition to the prosecution, and was calmly and clearly rebutted and overthrown, it was plainly to be seen that the tide of popular feeling was turning in favor of the young and gifted lawyer, and Earle felt that his weary labor of four months had been well spent, if it gained him even this. And who shall describe the eloquence that flowed from his lips as, with his whole heart in his work, he stood up before the multitude and made his plea? It was clear and concise, witty and brilliant—a masterpiece of rhetoric, logic, and conclusive evidence, combined with a thorough knowledge of all the intricacies of the law, and which did not fail to impress every hearer; and, when at last he sat down, cheer after cheer arose, and a perfect storm of applause that would not be stayed testified to the admiration and conviction which he had excited. It was a proud moment for Earle Wayne, the poor, despised convict, and Sumner Dalton, sitting there, heard all, and ground his teeth in fiercest rage. He had not known of the case until almost the last, having been again at Newport. But it had got into the papers recently, and Earle’s name as counsel for the prosecution had attracted his attention, and he had returned to the city and been present during the last few days of the trial.