“May I ask you what you mean?” he said. “Will you tell us why you left England?” Bertie glanced for one half-second toward the pale, lovely face which to him was like a star in the eager, crowded court. “Must I answer that?” he said. “You must.” “I--I left in consequence of a great disappointment,” said poor Bertie, his face downcast. “A love disappointment?” asked Mr. Edgar, who would have spared no one in his endeavor to save the client who would not stretch out a finger to save himself. “Did Lord Clydesfold know of this?” “He did,” said Bertie in a low voice. “He had been, as he has always been, the truest, stanchest friend through--this trouble. It was he who advised me to go abroad, who gave me the sympathy and counsel of a brother. I owe it to him that I did not give way and go to the bad----” He stopped and raised his eyes--they were moist--to the spot where Olivia sat. Mr. Edgar saw the glance, and his own eyes grew keen. “I am sorry to have to ask you the question, but I must do it. Was the lady with whom you were in love, Miss Vanley?” Bertie flushed, then he raised his head, and said in a low, grave voice: “It was Miss Vanley.” “Now Mrs. Bradstone?” said Mr. Edgar. Olivia covered her face with her hands, feeling that every eye was fixed upon her. Then she withdrew her hands and looked full at Bertie with an expression of sisterly love and pity. “And Lord Clydesfold knew of your devotion? Now, Lord Granville, I am going to ask you a question which may give you and others pain; but I am fighting for my client’s, your friend’s, life, and I charge you answer it! Have you reason to believe that Lord Clydesfold also loved that young lady?” Bertie started, and his face went pale, then he said: “I did not think so, but----” “Go on.” “I think so now!” The crowded court swayed to and fro in its intense excitement, and looked from the pale face of the prisoner to Bertie, and then to Olivia as she sat white as a statue, her eyes fixed on vacancy, and yet seeing the dark, sad ones of the prisoner. Mr. Edgar’s brain went to work. He was still in the dark, and yet he began to feel as if a glimmer of light were penetrating the mystery. “Knowing that he was already married, he would not admit this to you?” he asked. “No, a thousand times no!” said Bertie. “I have already said my friend is the soul of honor,” and he half-turned to the dock. Mr. Edgar bowed to him. “Thank you, Lord Granville. I call now Mr. Vanley.” The poor squire went into the box, Bertie taking his hand and pressing it as he passed. “How pale and worried the poor squire do look!” murmured a man, and an echo of sympathy ran around. “Tell us what you know of Lord Clydesfold, if you please, sir,” said Mr. Edgar, with all a young man’s respect for age. The squire, in a low yet distinct voice, told the story the reader knows so well. “Do you think him capable of committing a murder?”