Among them were perhaps a dozen people who sickened at the hideous scene. Sir Gaspard, Mr. Bolton, Cylmer--turned away from the man in the dock as his crimes were brought before him. Utterly hopeless, he was venomous still. Not a question that could humiliate Helen Trelane had his counsel spared her. Cylmer wondered at her courage as she stood in the witness-stand. Pale, perfectly dressed, she stood unmoved, as the question of the diamonds was asked. Neither Ismay nor Cristiane were there, and Cylmer was thankful. At least they would not see the spectacle of a woman shamed before the world. He started at the sound of Mrs. Trelane’s voice, as she answered the question, her words distinct in the close hush. “I took them,” she said softly, “because they were mine! He sent for me to give them to me. This note”--taking it from her pocket--“was on the table.” There was absolute silence in court while the few lines were read aloud: “DEAR HELEN: I can’t forget last night. Will you take these and wear them or sell them, as you like, in memory of our friendship. Yours faithfully, “ABBOTSFORD. “P. S.--I wrote this, meaning to send the diamonds, but I have let it stand, even now that you are coming to see me. You know I never was much good at talking, and I might not get it said.” “Why did you not produce this at the time?” Wray’s counsel asked sharply. “Because I was afraid! I thought I could not clear myself of the murder,” she answered simply. Turning, she met the eyes of the prisoner at the bar, and for all his desperate straits he smiled with understanding. She was Helen Trelane still, adventuress to the bone. He knew quite well that she had stolen that note. He had stuffed it into his pocket that day at Abbotsford’s, and had not burned it for the pure pleasure of having in his hands the proof that she was really not guilty; afterward, when Sir Gaspard’s will had delivered her into his hands, he had kept it still, so that when all was done and Ismay was his he could bring it out and laugh in their faces. But he dared not say so now. It would only make his case more black, his conduct more cold-blooded. And he could not see how she had obtained it; so that his bare word would go for nothing. She had outwitted him, and he made her a slight ironical sign of admiration with his eyes. And yet it was simple enough. When Davids and his men searched Wray’s room at Marchant’s Hold, they had never thought of a black frock coat that the housemaid had taken to replace a button. When he was gone the girl had taken it to Mrs. Trelane, and she had flung it on her bed with loathing, since it was his. When the girl was gone she picked it up gingerly, to feel something in the pocket, and so she found her salvation. She had avoided people after that, not from terror, but to laugh at them in her sleeve.