Amazed, almost frightened, for she had never heard him breathe a word of scepticism before,--though, to be sure, he had never mentioned the name of the Deity in her presence,--she stood looking at him like one who had received a blow; then she said: "I believe in God. It is my punishment that I do. It is He who wills blood for blood; who dooms the guilty to a merited death. Oh, if He only would accept the sacrifice I so willingly offer!--take the life I so little value, and give me in return----" "Mansell's?" completed the lawyer, turning upon her in a burst of fury he no longer had power to suppress. "Is that your cry--always and forever your cry? You drive me too far, Imogene. This mad and senseless passion for a man who no longer loves you----" "Spare me!" rose from her trembling lips. "Let me forget that." But the great lawyer only laughed. "You make it worth my while to save you the bitterness of such a remembrance," he cried. Then, as she remained silent, he changed his tone to one of careless inquiry, and asked: "Was it to tell this story of the prisoner having fled from his aunt's house that you came here to-night?" Recalled to the purpose of the hour, she answered, hurriedly: "Not entirely; that story was what Mr. Ferris expected me to testify to in court this morning. You see for yourself in what a position it would have put the prisoner." "And the revelation you have received?" the lawyer coldly urged. "Was of a deception that has been practised upon me--a base deception by which I was led to think long ago that Craik Mansell had admitted his guilt and only trusted to the excellence of his defence to escape punishment." "I do not understand," said Mr. Orcutt. "Who could have practised such deception upon you?" "The detectives," she murmured; "that rough, heartless fellow they call Hickory." And, in a burst of indignation, she told how she had been practised upon, and what the results had been upon her belief, if not upon the testimony which grew out of that belief. The lawyer listened with a strange apathy. What would once have aroused his fiercest indignation and fired him to an exertion of his keenest powers, fell on him now like the tedious repetition of an old and worn-out tale. He scarcely looked up when she was done; and despair--the first, perhaps, she had ever really felt--began to close in around her as she saw how deep a gulf she had dug between this man and herself by the inconsiderate act which had robbed him of all hope of ever making her his wife. Moved by this feeling, she suddenly asked: "Have you lost all interest in your client, Mr. Orcutt? Have you no wish or hope remaining of seeing him acquitted of this crime?" "My client," responded the lawyer, with bitter emphasis, "has taken his case into his own hands. It would be presumptuous in me to attempt any thing further in his favor." "Mr. Orcutt!"