Mr. Thurwell grasped his hand, and held it for a moment without speaking. He had all an Englishman's reticence of speech in times of great emotion, and it seemed to him that there was nothing that he could say. But silence was very eloquent. "I have brought Mr. Dewes with me," he said at last. "He wants to see you about the defence, you know. The high sheriff's a friend of mine, so I got him to pass me in at the same time; but if you'd rather see Dewes alone, you'll say so, won't you?" There had been an acute nervous force working in Bernard Maddison's face during that brief silence. At Mr. Thurwell's words, a change came. He dropped his visitor's hand, and his features were still and cold as marble, and almost as expressionless, save for the lightly drawn lips, and lowered eyebrows, which gave to his expression a fixed look of power. "That is very kind and thoughtful of you, Mr. Thurwell, and I am sorry that you should have had the trouble to no purpose. I have nothing to add to my previous decision. I will not be represented by either lawyer or counsel." Mr. Dewes moved forward out of the background, and bowed. He was a handsome, middle-aged man, looking more like a cavalry officer than a solicitor. But, as everyone knew, so far as criminal cases were concerned, he was the cleverest lawyer in London. "You are relying upon your innocence, of course, Mr. Maddison," he said; "but it is a very great mistake to suppose that it will establish itself without extraneous aid. You will have the Attorney-General against you, and you must have some one of the same caliber on your side. The old saying, 'Truth will out,' does not apply in an assize court. It requires to be dragged out. I think you will do well to accept my services. Roberts holds himself open to take the brief for your defence, if I wire him before midday." "I seldom change my mind," Bernard Maddison said quietly. "In the present case I shall not do so. If it seems to me that there is anything which should be said on my behalf, I shall say it myself." There was a short silence. Mr. Dewes looked at Mr. Thurwell, and Mr. Thurwell looked both perplexed and worried. "Maddison, you must admit that yours is an extraordinary decision," he said at last. "You must forgive me if I ask you in plain words what your reason is for it. I ask as one who is willing to be your friend in this matter; and I ask you as Helen's father." A sudden spasm of pain passed across Bernard Maddison's face. He shrunk back a little, and when he spoke his voice sounded hollow and strained. "I do not deny you the right to ask--but I cannot tell you. Simply it is my will. It is best so. It must be so." "Can you not see, Mr. Maddison," the lawyer said quietly, "that to some people this will seem almost like a tacit admission of guilt?" "I shall plead 'not guilty,'" he answered in a low tone.