When the speaker of the previous evening entered the large low room, with its walls lined with many rows of calf-bound volumes of statutes, reports, and precedents, its lettered pigeon-holes, its ponderous safe, and japanned deed boxes, it was evident she had lost for a time the calm serenity that had distinguished her at the Market Cross. Her face was pale, and her eyes looked as though they had lately wept. Her expression was anxious, and her manner agitated. As Beaumont rose from his chair he returned the respectful bow with which he greeted her, and took with some trembling the chair he placed for her. She waited for him to speak. “Mr. Storth tells me you will be a witness in the case in which Sullivan is charged with assault, Miss——. I beg your pardon, I don’t think Storth told me your name.” A crimson flush suffused the fair and beautiful features. “I am called Sister Gertrude in the Army.” “H’m; I’m afraid the clerk will ask for your full name. I understand this is a serious case, and he may think it necessary to take depositions.” “My name is Gertrude Fairfax, but, if possible, I prefer that my surname should not appear. There are reasons.” “Fairfax is a name both known and honoured in Yorkshire,” said Edward, with a courteous inclination towards the lady; “but I should not take you for a native of our county.” “Oh, no! my home is in Staffordshire, but my address is at the headquarters of the Army in London.” “Very well, Sister, I think we can manage that your name may not appear. I’ll speak to the reporter; he’ll work the oracle for a drink,” he mentally added. “And now Miss——I beg your pardon, Sister Gertrude—would you mind telling me what you know about this wretched business. You belong to the Salvation Army, I perceive.” “Yes; I am a soldier in the Army, not an officer, and last night, after our meeting at the Market Cross, a poor frightened woman spoke to me. She was in great trouble, but almost afraid to address me. You see, she is a Catholic and the Catholics never care to do anything their priest might not like. She said she was living an awful life. Her husband, the man they are to try to-day, she said, is a good, true man, and a loving husband, but for the drink, and then he is like one possessed. She said he earned good wages, under the Corporation, I fancy, as a navvy; but he spent so much in drink they were always in sore straits, and now had broken up their home and were living in vile lodgings. I was moved by Nellie’s story, and asked how I could help her. She begged me to go speak with her husband, plead and pray with him to give up the drink. Of course I went….