He gave her the necessary directions. She hurried away, half running. At last she had perceived the cause of her error. The chief court was only up one flight of stairs, and she had passed it by in her agitation. The door and its guardian appeared in sight. But at that moment it was thrown open and a stream of men issued forth. The recognition of her was a signal for wild cheering and a rush towards her. She turned to fly. Someone overtook her, grasped her arm. It was a young barrister, an acquaintance. “Let me take you out quietly. You will be mobbed by well-meaning enthusiasts.” The news that she was in front had spread. There was a tumult of cheers behind her. She pressed on with her guide. Her brain reeled. She dared scarcely ask the reason of the demonstration. In this first moment of confusion, it was merely significant of her own popularity. The thought was burning fire. A few steps brought them into the counsels’ and solicitors’ lobby, at the end of which was quiet. The young man looked at her glowingly. “Thank God! They might have hanged an innocent man.” She stared at him only half comprehending. “Yes. Don’t you know? Of course--he is acquitted--your evidence----” The young fellow stopped short, blushed--he was a fair youth and his white wig made him fairer--realising the delicate ground. “Yes--my evidence?” replied Irene, pausing. “I have been away from the court.” “It knocked the prosecution all of a heap. Hanna threw up the case. The judge directed a formal verdict. Thank God!” “Then he is free!” She staggered under the realisation, leaned for a moment against the wall. From a little distance off came the noise of voices and footsteps of people leaving the court. Twos and threes of barristers passed by and eyed her curiously. “Let me put you into a cab,” said the young man. “Thank you--yes,” she faltered. Taking his arm, faint and dizzy and half-closing her eyes, she allowed him to lead her by a staircase unused by the public, to the street. As she entered the cab a few persons recognised her, and set up a cheer and waved their hats. The cab drove off. The ceaseless, roaring traffic of Holborn seemed the phantasmagoria of a strange world. CHAPTER XIV Heartsick with longing for Gerard, she opened her front door. A maidservant met her in the hall. “Has your master come home?” “He has been in and gone out again, ma’am. He told me to let you have this note when you arrived.” She handed her mistress the brass letter-tray where it was lying. Irene tore open the envelope with shaking fingers. It contained a hasty line scribbled in pencil. “I am going away for the night. Will see you in the morning. G. M.”