Sophie Churchill was now standing by the side of the corpse—all eyes were turned towards her—_her_ eyes were bent straight forward across the room upon the bowed and shuddering figure of the minister; he _felt_ her gaze, he raised his head; her eyes full of deep reproach and dire determination encountered his—no longer cold and glittering like ice, and freezing the blood in her veins—oh, no! the anguish of a tortured soul _groaned_ through their glance—“_Mercy!_ Sophie.” That glance inspired Sophie’s heart with pity, but it was too late now, or _she_ thought it was too late to retract. The magistrate commenced his examination. To his question— “When did you first see this woman?” she replied by relating the adventure in the dell. “And her finger pointed at the—at the Rev. Mr. Withers?” “Yes, sir,” replied Sophie, turning her head to avoid looking at the tortured countenance of the minister. “Did she speak?” “Yes, sir.” “What did she say?” “Gazing intently at me, and pointing to the minister, she said, ‘shun him!’” All eyes now turned in wonder and curiosity from Sophie to the minister. “Did you ever see her after this?” “Once.” “Where?” Sophie now related the visit to the Hall. “And she claimed to be Mr. Withers’s wife?” “Yes, sir.” “Did she appear to you to be of unsound mind?” “No, sir.” “You may stand aside.” The magistrates conversed apart for a while, then one of their number said, “Will Mr. Withers be kind enough to step forward?” The minister arose, and collecting and composing himself with an effort, approached the table—all conversation was suspended—all eyes were fixed upon him—he felt it. “Will Mr. Withers oblige us by telling all he may know of this unfortunate young person—of course we have no sort of right, _now_, to ask it—we appeal to the courtesy of Mr. Withers to satisfy an interest that we all feel in this most unfortunate young stranger?” Mr. Withers bowed, and declared himself ready to answer any question upon the subject. “We have no intention or desire to subject Mr. Withers to a legal examination,” said the first speaker, “we merely wished, that if it were not unpleasant, Mr. Withers would oblige us by volunteering such information as might be in his possession.” “Is she your _wife_, Mr. Withers?” chucklingly inquired an old country squire, who did not believe what he asked, but whom neither time, place, nor circumstance could debar from his jest. “Is she your _wife_?”