It was an extraordinary trial, and the interest and excitement increased as it progressed. Of course, the judge and all the lawyers saw plainly that Mr. Edgar knew nothing of the true facts, and that he was fighting in the dark. And Olivia knew also--felt, rather than knew--that Faradeane had refused to tell the story of the murder to the counsel, as he had refused to tell it to every one else. Mr. Edgar looked round. “I call Lord Granville,” he said; and Bertie, who had been standing as near the box as he could possibly get, stepped again into the witness-box. “Now, my lord,” said Mr. Edgar, boldly, “please tell us all you know of Lord Clydesfold. I ask you to reserve nothing. I have no fear of the truth.” Then Lord Bertie, with an earnestness which went to the hearts of all who heard him, spoke of his long knowledge of Faradeane; how they had been at Eton together--he the younger and the weaker, Faradeane (or Lord Clydesfold) the stronger and the protector; how, all through their lives, Faradeane had proved himself the truest of friends and the most upright, honorable, and lofty-minded of men. “Such a man as my friend Lord Clydesfold is simply incapable of murder!” he wound up, and there was a buzz of applause. “You knew nothing of this secret marriage with the gypsy?” asked Edgar. “Nothing,” replied Lord Bertie. “Have you ever seen this revolver in Lord Clydesfold’s possession?” Bertie took it in his hand. “Never. I do not believe it to be his. I feel sure that it is not his. It is quite unlike him to carry, or even possess a revolver. Why, you know, Cly,” he said, turning quickly and reproachfully to the prisoner, “you know you have always ridiculed the practice of carrying a revolver----” “Silence!” cried the usher. “Do not address the prisoner.” Bertie crimsoned, and a faint, sad smile passed over Faradeane’s face, as if he should say: “It is all of no use, Bertie; give it up.” Olivia clutched her father’s arm. “You hear! The revolver is not his.” The squire shook his head silently. “Look at the revolver again. You see those initials? Is it usual for Lord Clydesfold to cut his initials--the initials of his assumed name--on articles belonging to him?” “No. I never knew him to do such a thing before.” “Do you consider that those initials have been recently cut, Lord Granville?” “Really, my lord,” said Mr. Sewell, “this is not evidence.” “I shall not interfere,” said the judge, almost grimly. “They are recently cut,” said Bertie. “It never belonged to Lord Clydesfold. He wouldn’t have bought a revolver of this description; a trumpery, a silver-plated thing!” and he put it from him with a gesture of contempt which made the crowd exchange glances. “You left England suddenly, Lord Granville,” said Mr. Edgar; “you saw your friend Lord Clydesfold before you left?” “I did; a few hours before. I have cause to remember it.” Mr. Edgar pricked up his ears.