Faradeane turned his head away, and was silent for a moment; then he said, “No.” An expression of surprise crossed Mr. Edgar’s face, and he looked down and bit his lip as if puzzled. “She did not commit suicide?” he said. “Then how am I to account for the presence of the revolver bearing your name? If she had committed suicide, I could have accounted for the revolver being in her possession, as part of the property which may have fallen into her hands as your wife. How am I to account for this?” “Mr. Edgar,” said Faradeane, gravely, “I can understand your desire to do your duty, and to assist me; and, believe me, it costs me a great deal not to be able to tell all that I should like to tell you; but I have reasons for remaining silent. That these reasons are all-powerful with me you may well believe, when I am content to plead guilty to a crime the penalty for which is the scaffold. I can render you no assistance. It was not by my wish that you were appointed my counsel. I cannot close your lips. I cannot, in the face of the court, decline the aid which it has appointed; but I can say nothing to help you in this matter.” Mr. Edgar took one or two paces up and down the narrow cell. “Every word you have said, my lord,” he said, “goes further and further to convince me that you are not guilty. Oh! I do beg of you--with all the earnestness of which I am capable--consider the position in which you stand. Such a name as that which you bear, surely you owe something to that. If you have no thought for your own life, think of that name which has been handed down to you honored and stainless----” Faradeane put up his hand. “Stainless no longer,” he said. “The story of my shame, and my wife’s, is by this time all over England. In a word, Mr. Edgar, I am utterly weary of the life which you would endeavor to save. I repeat, I can tell you nothing; my lips are closed, let the end be what it may.” The young counsel’s face paled, and he bit his lips. “So be it, my lord,” he said; “but give me leave to tell you that though you will render me no assistance, will give me no information, I shall still do my duty. Forgive me if I tell you that there are no reasons grave enough to warrant a man sacrificing his life, and I shall still do my very utmost to prove that the plea of guilt which you set up this morning is an utterly false one.” Faradeane inclined his head. “I am sure you will do that, Mr. Edgar,” he said, “and I am sorry I cannot wish you success.” Mr. Edgar bowed, and was leaving the cell, when Faradeane put out his hand with a gesture to arrest him. “One moment,” he said. “You can do something for me.” Mr. Edgar stopped, and looked at him with a sudden hope. “There is a lady in court,” said Faradeane, in a very low voice, “Mr. Vanley’s daughter--Mrs. Bradstone. Will you do me a favor?” “I will do anything you ask me, except believe you guilty of this murder, my lord.”