"It's what we've been waiting for," she said, "and it had to come. Reginald will face it like a man, and will fling the lie into their faces. Keep a stout heart, my lad." "If I suffer," he replied, "it is because of the grief I have brought into my dear Florence's life." "It is not a grief of your creating, dear," said Florence, "and you have brought nothing into my life which has not strengthened my love for you. I put my trust in God." She bent down, and pressed her lips upon his hand; the night had fallen, and those at a distance could not see the action. "Oh, my dear, my dear! He will not allow the innocent to suffer." "Be brave, for my sake, dearest." "I will be. I am." And in her heart was the prayer, "God shield my beloved! God protect him!" They issued into the open air, and stood by Lambert's side in silence. The only movement he made was to beckon to a constable, and, whispering a few words to him, to point somewhat conspicuously to the juror who had shown himself so inimical to Reginald. All the other jurymen had taken their departure; this man alone was waiting. If Lambert's aim was to arouse in him the aggressive spirit of which he had given frequent instances during the inquest, it was gained, for the juror walked up to the detective, and inquired if he had pointed at him with any particular design, and if so, what it was and what he meant by it. Lambert stroked his chin and did not answer. "The road's free to all, I suppose," pursued the man, nettled at Lambert's silence; his voice was loud and offensive. "Now you mention it," observed Lambert, slowly considering the proposition, "it is." "I thought so," said the man, and was at a loss what next to say, for Lambert had fallen into a meditative mood, and to feel for a pimple on his chin seemed to be of assistance to him. The appearance of another person upon the scene, who halted, however, at a distance of a dozen yards or so, with her black eyes fixed upon the juror, was not noticed by any of them, except perhaps by the meditative detective. "Move on," said the constable whom Lambert had addressed, and some idlers, who had shown a disposition to linger, sauntered away. The juror held his ground, but was not at his ease, for he felt that Lambert's eye was on him, and to be thus meditatively observed by an imperturbable detective was enough to make any man uneasy. Presently Lambert roused himself from his brown study. "Which direction are you going to take?" he said to the Juror. "Why do you want to know?" asked the man. "Because I will take the other, and I've a hundred things to attend to." "Who's hindering you?" "You, Mr. Rawdon. That's your name, I believe." "I'm not ashamed of it," said Mr. Rawdon, with a slight start.