He sits very quietly through it all, hardly seeming to notice this outburst of the victors. He does not grudge them their momentary triumph; his thoughts do not dwell upon the defeat which he has just sustained. They are far away, out beyond the portals of the present, clasping the warm hands of the future, reading the bright letters that twine their golden circlet round its brow, as they flash their meaning forth in the one word “Victory!” Be of good cheer, brave heart, for victory is at hand! The House has adjourned; it is five minutes past twelve. As the Prime Minister passes out he is joined by Evie Ravensdale, who at once links his arm within that of his friend and colleague. Although the duke’s carriage is in waiting, these two purposely refrain from entering it, so as to avoid the crowd and the inevitable demonstration which would follow recognition thereby. In this manner they escape detection by the populace. Not entirely, however. Sharp eyes have recognised Hector D’Estrange. He has not gone many steps when a hand is laid on his shoulder. “Mr. D’Estrange,” he hears a voice saying, “I arrest you in the name of the law.” “On what charge?” he inquires in a quick, startled voice. “On the charge, sir, of murdering Lord Westray,” is the reply. In a moment his quick brain has taken in the situation, and he knows that resistance is useless. “Very well,” he answers quietly, “I will go with you. Evie,” he adds, in a calm, composed voice “please go at once to my poor mother.” [Illustration] CHAPTER III. “Say, prisoner at the bar, are you or are you not guilty of the murder of Lord Westray?” “Not guilty.” The answer comes in a clear and distinct voice, a voice in which there is neither faltering nor evasion. It is a voice singularly rich and melodious, a voice which one would think could not readily lie. A hum runs through the crowded court, an indescribable buzz and movement of excitement, but there is joy and relief on many a face, where hitherto doubt and perplexity had reigned. The court is crowded to suffocation. All the well-known faces of the day are present. The rush to obtain admittance has been unprecedented, and the excitement and popular feeling in regard to the case is unparalleled in the annals of the law courts. He stands there very quietly, but erect as a dart. His arms are folded on his chest, and his whole carriage is one of easy dignity. None, looking at the beautiful face, with its clear, radiant complexion, magnificent eyes, and high, pale, thoughtful brow, around which the old-gold curls lovingly cluster, could bring themselves to believe that that man is a murderer.