position which we occupied; this was our defense. The evidence which I was about to introduce said all that I said, and into its keeping I willingly surrendered the property and the good name of the widow and orphan, whose cause is holy in the sight of God and of men. _Cum deceptis jura subveniunt._ It was now for me to introduce the evidence on the part of the defense, and I did so in the order which reason at once suggests as the most natural and direct. First, of the marriage, which was not denied; then of the wife’s inheritance, which Andrews had received, and of which the proof was too full to be questioned; and then, as part of the _res gestæ_, letters written by Andrews at different periods, and in times of temporary absence, breathing confidence and love, and twice alluding to the suspicions which the idle gossip of his enemies had planted in the breast of his wife, and branding them as the offspring of an unfounded malice. As I passed the papers to the clerk, I turned and looked upon Mr. Cornelius. His hands rested, clenched, upon his knees, but his eyes still reached for the gold which was fast receding in the distance. My client had, from the first, put off all womanly fear, and listened to the argument and watched the testimony with a clear brow, pale from resolution. Once, when the junior counsel in his opening speech, hinted at concubinage—a crime too frequent, too much bred into the customs of the city not to gain an easy credence—the blood mounted, suffused her temples, bathed her whole face in the ruddy light of a golden sunset, and then flowed back not to return again. Now, she was cool enough.