That gentleman merely shrugged his shoulders. Then the usher cried, “Silence!” A deep hush fell upon the court, and the clerk rose to read the indictment. “Prisoner at the bar, do you plead ‘guilty,’ or ‘not guilty’?” he demanded. One could have heard a pin drop, so intense was the silence, as all breathlessly awaited the answer. It came: “Guilty.” A murmur arose, a dull sound of amazement. “Silence!” The judge leaned forward, and regarded the calm, set face with grave attention. “Do you plead guilty, prisoner?” he asked, in the slow, judicial tone, impartial, almost insentient. “Where is the counsel for the defense?” “I desire no counsel, my lord,” said Faradeane, in a voice that, though low, was distinct enough to reach the remotest corner of the court. The judge looked at him thoughtfully for the space of a moment. “Do you say that you are undefended?” “I have no defense, my lord,” came the response, almost apathetic in its calm weariness. Olivia’s heart seemed to stand still. She clutched her father’s arm. “Father! father!” “Hush!” he said, and looked toward the judge. “Prisoner, are you sensible of the awful position in which you stand? I fear not. But it is my duty to see that you have a fair trial, without fear or favor. With the sense of my responsibility upon me, I take upon myself to advise you to withdraw that plea and to permit a counsel to defend you. Mr. Edgar”--and he leaned forward and addressed a young barrister--“will you defend the prisoner?” The young counsel sprang to his feet at once, and bowed to the judge. “I will, my lord.” He made his way to the front of the dock, and looked up at Faradeane. “You are mad!” he said, in too low a voice for those around to hear. “We plead ‘Not guilty,’ my lord,” he added, firmly. Faradeane made a slight gesture of weary resignation; and Mr. Sewell, the famous London counsel, rose, hitched his robe on to his shoulder, and commenced his address. The judge leaned back; the deep hush once more settled upon the court. “My lord and gentlemen of the jury: I shall not have to detain you long with the recital of this tragic story. I shall, in the fewest and plainest words consistent with my painful duty, recount so much of the history of this case as can be sworn to by trustworthy witnesses, who, if they did not actually see the crime committed--and how seldom are there any witnesses present at the precise moment the blow is struck, the shot fired!--who, if they were not actually present at the fatal moment, arrived almost before the breath had left the body of the victim.” Then, in well-balanced sentences, and in a grave, solemn voice, he told the story of the finding of the dead woman, and the prisoner’s presence near the body, together with the discovery of the revolver bearing his name.