Frobisher shrugged his shoulders, and went on totting a line of figures in his memorandum-book. “Better off than I thought!” said he to himself; “seven to five taken that he would not plead--eight to three that he would not call Linton. Long odds upon time won: lost by verdict four hundred and fifty. Well, it might have been worse; and I 've got a lesson--never to trust a Jury.” “I say, Charley,” whispered Upton, “what are you going to do?” “How do you mean?” “Will you go up and speak to him?” said he, with a motion of his head towards the dock. Frobisher's sallow cheek grew scarlet. Lost and dead to every sense of honorable feeling for many a day, the well had not altogether dried up, and it was with a look of cutting insolence he said,-- “No, sir; if I did not stand by him before, I 'll not be the hound to crawl to his feet now.” “By Jove! I don't see the thing in that light. He's all right now, and there 's no reason why we should n't know him as we used to do.” “Are you so certain that he will know _you?_” was Fro-bisher's sharp reply as he turned away. The vast moving throng pressed forward, and now all were speedily commingled,--spectators, lawyers, jurors, witnesses. The spectacle was over, and the empty court stood silent and noiseless, where a few moments back human hopes and passions had surged like the waves of a sea. The great space in front of the court-house, filled for a few moments by the departing crowd, grew speedily silent and empty,--for day had not yet broken, and all were hastening homeward to seek repose. One figure alone was seen to stand in that spot, and then move slowly, and to all seeming irresolutely, onward. It was Cashel himself, who, undecided whither to turn, walked listlessly and carelessly on. As he turned a corner of a street, a jaunting-car, around which some travellers stood, stopped the way, and he heard the words of the driver. “There's another place to spare.” “Where for?” asked Cashel. “Limerick, sir,” said the man. “Drive on, b------t you,” cried a deep voice from the other side of the vehicle; and the fellow's whip descended with a heavy slash, and the beast struck out into a gallop, and speedily was out of sight. “Did n't you see who it was?” muttered the speaker to the man beside him. “No.” “It was Cashel himself,--I knew him at once; and I tell you, Jones, he would have known _me_, too, for all this disguise, when a gleam of day came to shine.” As for Cashel, he stood gazing after the departing vehicle, with a strange chaos of thought working within. “Am I then infamous?” said he at last, “that these men will not travel in my company? Is it to this the mere accusation of crime has brought me!” And, slight as the incident was, it told upon him as some acrid substance would irritate and corrode an open wound,--festering the tender surface.