“Quite--quite incapable,” said the squire, and he was about to leave the box, when Mr. Edgar stopped him with a question. “This murder was discovered some few hours after the marriage of Miss Vanley to Mr. Bradstone?” “It was,” said the squire, gravely. “He was a friend of Lord Clydesfold’s. I will call him next. He is in court, I suppose?” and he looked around. “He is not in court. He is abroad,” said the squire. Mr. Edgar’s eyes glittered. “Abroad,” he said, as if carelessly. “Why has he gone abroad?” “He was called by business.” “When did he leave, sir?” asked Mr. Edgar. “Two nights ago,” said the squire. “Really, my lord, I must submit that this appears to me quite irrelevant and calculated to cause unnecessary pain to others,” said Mr. Sewell. “I see no reason to interfere,” said the judge again. “When did you see him last?” The squire thought a moment before answering. “When did Mrs. Bradstone see him last?” asked Mr. Edgar again. The squire paused a second. “On the wedding day.” Mr. Edgar began to fidget with his brief; his keen eyes veiled by their lids. “The tidings of the murder were brought into the hall while the wedding party was waiting, and--and my daughter fell in a swoon. She has been ill for some time since--is ill now,” and the poor squire’s voice quavered. Mr. Edgar inclined his head. “Be assured, sir,” he said, “that you have my sympathy, and that of all well-intentioned men. But it is my painful duty to ask you more questions. She has not seen Mr. Bradstone since the wedding day?” “You cannot ask him that; how can he answer it with any certainty?” said Mr. Sewell, as if really his patience at these irregular questions had become exhausted. “Good,” said Mr. Edgar, promptly. “I call Mrs. Bradstone.” A thrill ran through the court; and suddenly Faradeane leaned forward and laid his hand on Mr. Edgar’s shoulder. “No!” he said, sternly. Mr. Edgar looked up at him with respectful firmness. “Pardon me, my lord,” he said. “Mrs. Bradstone, please!” Olivia rose trembling, and now, for the moment, her pale face was crimson. Bertie sprang forward and gave her his arm, and she walked into the box. And now, for the first time, the calm demeanor which the prisoner had maintained with apparently no effort, broke down. He was seen to tremble, and his hands clasped and unclasped each other on the edge of the dock. As she passed, she raised her eyes to his, and looked at him with such a steadfast gaze of pity and trust and devotion, that his own gaze faltered, and, with an almost audible groan for the suffering she was about to endure, he turned his head away. She grasped the front of the box tightly; Bertie stood close beside her, her father just below her. Mr. Edgar arranged his notes to give her a few moments to prepare herself, then he said: