"Pray, upon what charge is he arrested?" inquired the viscount, in a shaking voice, that he tried in vain to make steady. "A trifle of murder, among other fancy performances," said McRae. At this moment Frisbie caught sight of his master and set up a howl, through which his words were barely audible: "Oh, my lord, you will never betray me! You will never be a witness against me! You will never hang me! You promised that you would not!" "Hold your tongue, you abominable fool! What the fiend are you talking about? Do you forget yourself, sir?" roared the viscount, furious at the fatal folly of his weak accomplice. "Oh, no, my lord, I do not forget myself! I do not forget anything. I beg your lordship's pardon for speaking, and I will swear to be as silent as the grave, if your lordship will only promise not to--" "Will you stop short where you are, and not open your mouth again, you insufferable idiot!" thundered the viscount. Frisbie gulped his last words, whined and crouched like a whipped hound, and subsided into silence. And soon after this McRae and the other officers who were off duty for the remainder of the night went home and the doors were closed. A miserable night it was to all within the station house, and especially to that guilty man and woman who had been torn from their luxurious home and confined in this dreary prison. All that could revolt, disgust, and utterly depress human nature seemed gathered within its walls. Here were drunkenness, deadly sickness, and reckless and shameless profanity, all of the most loathsome character. And all this was excruciating torture to a man like Lord Vincent, who, if he was not refined, was at least excessively fastidious. There was no rest; every few minutes the door was opened to receive some new prisoner, some inebriate, or some night-brawler picked up by the watch, and brought in, and then would ensue another scene of confusion. An endless night it seemed, yet it came to an end at last, The morning slowly dawned. The pale, cold, gray light of the winter day looked sadly through the falling snow into the closely-grated, dusty windows. And upon what a scene it looked. Men were there, scattered over the floor and upon the benches in every stage of intoxication; some stupid, some reckless, some despairing; some sound asleep; some waking up and yawning, and some walking about impatiently. As the day broadened and the hour arrived for the sitting of the police magistrate, the policemen came in and marched off the crowd of culprits to a hall in another part of the building, where they were to be examined. Even the women were marched out from the inner room after the men. It seemed that all the lighter offenders were to be disposed of first. Lord Vincent and Frisbie were left alone in charge of one officer. "When are we to be examined?" demanded the viscount haughtily of this man. "I dinna ken," he answered, composedly lighting his pipe and smoking away.