A young man, the son of a well-known statesman, stepped into the box, and with a sad look at Faradeane, repeated the words of the oath. “Do you know the prisoner?” “Yes, indeed, I do,” was the low and mournful reply. “He is the Earl of Clydesfold,” and he looked at Faradeane as if imploring his pardon for appearing against him. “I came here because I was obliged,” he faltered. “That will do, my lord; we can understand how painful it must be for you,” said Mr. Sewell, gently; and the viscount stepped from the box. “I shall now call witnesses to the marriage.” Mr. Edgar sprang to his feet. “But I submit, my lord, that my learned friend has not sufficiently proved my client’s”--he did not use the word “prisoner,” it was noticed--“identity. The motive--the motive for this crime is all-important. One witness is not sufficient!” The judge nodded. Mr. Sewell bent down and whispered to the solicitor; he shrugged his shoulders. There was a pause. Then a strange coincidence happened. There was a movement in the crowd. It parted, and a young man forced his way to the dock, and with a cry of “Clydesfold!” seized the prisoner’s hand! The spectators shouted, the usher yelled “Order!” the judge leaned forward and first looked amazed, then frowned. “Bertie!” sprang from Olivia’s white lips. He turned, still holding Faradeane’s hand, and looked at her. Ah, such a look! No pen can describe it; no poet, no painter could convey it. “Order!” cried the usher, sternly. McAndrew tugged Sewell’s arm, and “I call Viscount Granville,” he said, instantly. Faradeane smiled down at him sadly, and drew his hand away; and, with a wild, angry look on his handsome face, Bertie was led by the arm to the box. “You are Lord Granville?” “I am,” he answered, in a low voice. “You know the prisoner at the bar?” “I know Lord Clydesfold,” he responded. “He honors me with his friendship!” The court thrilled. “Yes, honors me!” he repeated, looking at Faradeane with mingled affection and indignation. “And I say that to accuse him----” “You may stand down, my lord,” said Sewell. “One moment,” interposed the judge’s grave voice. “You have only just arrived in court, Lord Granville?” “I have, my lord,” said Bertie, eagerly. “I have been abroad”--he looked at Faradeane--“and reached England yesterday, midday. I heard of this--this ridiculous charge against my friend only this morning, a few minutes ago. I know that he is as utterly incapable of committing a crime as----” He stopped, almost breaking down. The judge bore with him in patient sympathy and silence for a moment, then he said: “Do you know anything of the prisoner’s marriage?” “I know nothing of it, and I do not believe it,” replied Bertie, instantly. A buzz of applause rose, and was instantly quelled by the usher. “When did you see the prisoner last?” asked Mr. Sewell. “I--I can’t give you the date--the day I left England. Here at The Dell.” “Did you ask him--did he tell you----”