The only person who caught the meaning of the action was Peggy Neville, who sat in a corner a little back of the Governor's chair. Heart reads heart in crises like these, and sympathy is second sight. Her first feeling was a quick thrill and a desire to run across the room and kiss that cold proud face with the swollen eyelids. Then the blood of the Nevilles, proud every whit as that of the Calverts, surged angrily back to her heart. "She to dare to doubt him! Why, nobody thinks great things of me, but I would never desert any one that I cared even the least little bit about. I'd stick all the closer when people turned against him, and as for evidence, what is the use of being a woman if you are going to be influenced by such things as that!" Oh, little Peggy! women do not own the only minds superior to evidence. From across the hall a young man is watching every expression of your face, feeling sure that your brother is innocent because you think him so--confident that Governor Brent is a cold, hard man, eager to believe evil of a friend, and vowing that as for him, Romney Huntoon, his sword, his honor, his life itself are at the service of Christopher Neville, with whom he has scarcely spoken, and of Christopher's sister Peggy whom he has known for a matter of ten days. A silence deeper than before falls on the company as the tramp of feet is heard at the door and Neville enters between two guards. The Coroner's inquest is formed after the fashion of the day, Giles Brent as Chief-Justice and Chief Coroner of the province, under that charter which in Maryland invested the governor with the _regia potestas_, on the platform at the end of the hall. Associated with him by courtesy is the lady of the manor, while on either side are ranged Councillors Neale and Cornwaleys. All face the central figure stretched rigid on the bier in the middle of the hall, and as the prisoner walks the length of the room that lies between him and the bier, all eyes are fixed upon him. To each person present his bearing denotes a different thing. It is not beauty alone that is in the eye of the gazer. To Peggy Neville that bearing speaks lofty consciousness of innocence. To Mary Brent it swaggers with the effrontery of brazen guilt. To Giles Brent the face is an impenetrable mask. To Elinor Calvert--but how describe the emotions that surge through her soul, each obliterating the former like waves on a beach of sand! Her first feeling, as she watched Neville stride up the room, was a thrill of pride in his imperious personality as he towered taller by a head than his guard, and in his bearing outranking all present in courtliness. Then came a longing to speak out before them all and claim him for her true love; then, as her glance travelled upward to that pale set face, the deadly chill of doubt and distrust struck cold upon her heart, and she bowed her head upon her hands.