While Faustina, regardless that her famished fellow-prisoners were devouring her cakes, fruits, and wine, gave herself up to passionate lamentations, another scene was going on in the men's hall. Lord Vincent sat gnawing his nails and "glowering" upon the floor in his corner. From time to time the door opened, letting in a gust of wind, sleet, and snow, and a new party of prisoners; but the viscount never lifted his eyes to observe them. At length, however, he looked up and beckoned Constable McRae to his side. "Here, you, fellow! I would like to see your warrant again. I wish to know who is my accuser." "Judge Randolph Merlin, my lord, of the United States Supreme Court," answered McRae, once more taking out his warrant and submitting it to the inspection of his prisoner. "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the viscount affectedly. "Randolph Merlin! He has come to the country, I suppose, to look after his daughter; and finding that these negroes are among the missing, has pretended to get up this charge against me! It will not answer his purpose, however. And I only wonder that any magistrate in his senses should have issued a warrant for the apprehension of a nobleman upon his unsupported charge." "Pray excuse me, my lord, but the charge was not unsupported," said McRae respectfully. "How--not unsupported?" "No, my lord. The judge had for witnesses the three negroes, and--" "The three negroes!" exclaimed the viscount, recoiling in amazement; but quickly recovering his presence of mind, he added: "Oh! aye! of course! they ran off with my plate, and I suppose they have succeeded in effectually secreting it and eluding discovery. And now I suspect they have been looked up by their old master and persuaded to appear as false witnesses against me. Ha, ha, ha! what a weak device! I am amazed that any magistrate should have ventured upon such testimony to have issued a warrant for my apprehension." "I beg your pardon, my lord; but theirs was not the only testimony. There were several gentlemen present, fellow-voyagers of Judge Merlin, who testified to the finding of the negroes in a state of slavery in Cuba; their testimony corroborates that of the negroes," said McRae. Lord Vincent went pale as death. "What does that mean? Oh, I see! it is all a conspiracy," he said, with an ineffectual effort at derision. But at that moment there was a bustle outside; the door was thrown open, and another prisoner was brought in by two policemen. "What is the matter? Who is it now?" inquired McRae, going forward. "We have got him, sir," said a constable. "Who?" demanded McRae. "The murderer, sir!" answered the policeman, at the same moment dragging into view the assassin of Ailsie Dunbar, the ex-valet of Lord Vincent, Alick Frisbie. Heavily fettered, his knees knocking together, pale and trembling, the wretch stood in the middle of the floor. "Where did you take him?" inquired McRae. "At the 'Bagpipes,' Peterhead," replied the successful captor.