The judge glanced now and again at the pale, composed face of the prisoner, and the crowd marked that, though he kept his eyes fixed on the ground, his face showed no sign of fear or emotion. “I shall call witnesses who will prove these facts, as I submit, irrefutably. And now, my lord, I come to the point which doubtless you and the gentlemen of the jury have been waiting for--the question of motive. Why should the prisoner, a man of evident refinement, a gentleman on behalf of whose character my learned friend, his counsel, will no doubt bring a cloud of witnesses, commit this awful crime? Why should he shoot this woman? My answer is: Because she was his wife----” A thrill ran through the court; and as the crowd seemed to stir and sway with astonished excitement, a faint cry rose from Olivia’s lips. Faradeane heard it, and for a moment he raised his eyes and looked at her--a look that pleaded for forgiveness, for mercy. White as a ghost, she clung to her father’s hand. “It--it--is not true!” she breathed. “His wife; the woman who, in a moment of passion, as unreasoning as that in which he slew her, he had secretly married. It does not become any man to speak ill of the dead; but, gentlemen of the jury, it will be my painful duty to produce evidence to prove that the tie which the prisoner had in a rash moment contracted with the deceased was of so galling, so unendurable a nature, that he was compelled to fly from her. Most men would have severed the bond. The prisoner could have sought and obtained a release in the Divorce Court, for she had given him cause; but there were reasons why such a step should be unacceptable to him. My lord, gentlemen, up to the present, we see in the prisoner only an ordinary, private gentleman, living in a quiet, country spot secluded from the eyes of the world. But such was not always his position. The prisoner has not always borne the name of Harold Faradeane; and it is my painful task to ask you to recognize in him the person of the Earl of Clydesfold!” A murmur quite audible, and not to be suppressed, rose from the crowd. The barristers put their heads together, the judge leaned forward and looked at the prisoner. “The Earl of Clydesfold!” went from lip to lip. Olivia uttered no cry, but sat white and statuesque. “His wife! His wife!” rang in her ears. She understood that scene in the wood, when he had held her in his arms and called her his love, and then drawn back, like a man stepping from the edge of a precipice. His wife!