“You are crazy, Kitty! you imagined the whole thing or else you have been deceived by a resemblance,” cried the spinster, in great displeasure. “Come right back into the court-house and point out to me furtively the woman you took for Sibyl St. Alban. I’ll warrant it is a creature of flesh and blood, and that some trivial likeness has misled you.” They went back quietly to the crowded room where silence had been restored and the counsel had gone on with his speech to the judge and jury, while the prisoner sat pale and drooping like a broken flower before them. They sat down softly, and then the maid lifted her eyes half fearfully to the distant spot where she had seen a black-clad figure sitting with a face like Sibyl St. Alban’s, glaring defiance upon Nina when she kissed her husband’s letter. When she had looked, she gave a sigh of blended disappointment and relief. Among the closely crowded benches the seat where she had seen the ghostly figure sitting was empty. The woman had disappeared. “Now where is the ghost, you silly thing?” whispered the stern old maid, and Kitty could only nervously indicate the vacant seat and whisper that it had disappeared. “It was only your fancy at first. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, making such a scene for nothing,” returned the lady, tartly, and she turned her back upon the girl and gave her indignant attention to the speech of the counsel for the prosecution. It was said then and afterward that the able lawyer had never made a more brilliant and effective speech. He brought all his learning, all his eloquence, all his power to bear. He asked the jury to look at the facts as they were, not in the distorted light in which Mrs. Strangemore’s lawyer had presented them. Mr. Davenport had asked them to remember the youth, the beauty, the high position of the accused. He desired to remind them that Mrs. St. Alban had been young, lovely, and wealthy too. Life had been as sweet to her as to the cruel girl who had sent her out of it into the darkness of the tomb. He said that Sibyl St. Alban had not been a guilty woman, only a thoughtless one. She had been the betrothed of Talbot Strangemore when he was a college student, and after a lover’s quarrel, in a fit of pique, he had thoughtlessly acceded to his parent’s wish that he should marry the child-heiress, Nina Selwyn. When in after years the estranged lovers met again, all their old tenderness revived, but the man was the most to blame, because he had fostered Sibyl St. Alban’s love, declaring that he would procure a divorce from his childish bride and marry her. Nina Selwyn had been the marplot in their whole romantic history. She had parted them first, and then murdered the lovely, hapless young widow, whose only fault was that she loved the man who should by every law, human and divine, have been her husband instead of Nina Selwyn’s. He went on at length, making a martyr of Sibyl St. Alban, and a human