“P’lice an’ pris’ners y’ honor,” admitted them, closed the door, and retired. The party found themselves in a rich, antique, and handsomely-furnished library, the walls of which were alternately lighted with stained glass gothic windows, and lined with richly wrought and well-filled book-cases. At the upper extremity of this room, behind a long table, covered with a green cloth, sat Sir George Bannerman; on his right hand was his secretary, and near the end of the table, on the same side, were gathered Madame L’Orient, Monsieur Victoire, and a little French Abbe. Near the magistrate stood Lord Dazzleright. As the venerable clergyman advanced, supporting his fragile charge, Sir George arose, gravely acknowledged their presence by a slight bow, and sat down again. The officer preceding the party, laid his warrant before the magistrate, and said— “Here is the prisoner, your worship,” bowed, and retired a step or two. Sir George took up the document, and while he was looking over it in silence, the library door was once more opened, and— “His lordship, the Bishop of Exeter, and Lord Montressor, to attend the examination,” were announced. They entered gravely, bowed in silence to Sir George Bannerman, who acknowledged their salutation by a momentary lifting of his eyes and a nod, and then took their stand upon the side near Lord Dazzleright. “Was this _well_ done, Sir George Bannerman?” vehemently inquired Mr. Oldfield. “To what do you allude, sir?” asked the knight, without lifting his glance from the document in his hand. “I allude to the arrest of the lady.” “Reverend sir, one of your excellent judgment should know that the _law_, no more than the _gospel_, is a ‘respecter of persons.’” “Assuredly not, Sir George! but you were in the church at the time this illegal marriage took place; you heard the solemn adjuration of the Lord Bishop officiating, that—if any man there present knew cause why the contracting parties should not be joined in matrimony, he should then and there declare it. Sir, you sat there, with this unhappy lady’s husband by your side, and heard this solemn adjuration, and you did not speak! But speedily after the accomplishment of the act, you issued the warrant for the lady’s arrest. Sir George Bannerman, I ask you once more, _was_ this act, on the part of a Christian, a gentleman, and a magistrate, _well done_?” “Sir, a distinguished professor of the orthodox principles of human free agency like yourself, should understand that the _law_, no more than the _gospel_, interferes arbitrarily to prevent crime; that it can only judge and punish; but sir, we lose time; will you have the kindness to stand aside and let me see the prisoner?” With a deep-drawn sigh, bearing to Heaven an earnest prayer for the despairing one at his side, the good clergyman withdrew a step, and Estelle was left standing unsupported before the green table. “Madam, will you be kind enough to unvail?” said the magistrate.