'I was in hopes,' said the attorney, 'that Mr. Probus might be terrified, and so might withdraw at the last moment. It is easy to withdraw. He has only to order the two principal witnesses not to attend, when the case falls to the ground. As we are now free from all anxiety,' I sighed, 'well, from all but the very natural anxiety that belongs to a prison and to the uncertainty of the law, it is better for us that he should put in all the witnesses when we can establish our charge of conspiracy. I marvel, indeed, greatly that a man so astute should not perceive that defence, where a King's Counsel and a Junior of great repute are engaged must mean a serious case, and that a serious case only means denial of the main charge. Else there would be no defence at all. Well,' he rose--'I drink your health, Mr. Halliday, in this excellent Madeira, and a speedy release to you.' 'And I, Will,' said Tom, pouring out another glass, 'I, too, drink a speedy release to you.' So they went away. Then Jenny got up. 'Cousin Will,' she said sadly, 'I have done all I could for you. If the Black Jack knew to-night what would be said in Court to-morrow, there would be murder. They will all be in Court--every one--to hear the splendid perjuries of the Bishop and the Captain. Those two worthies expect a brave day: indeed, it will be a great day for them, yet not quite in the manner they anticipate. Well 'tis the last night in prison, Will. To-morrow thou wilt be back again in the Cottage beside the river. Happy Will! Happy Alice! As for me----' she sighed wearily. 'Why, Jenny, as for you--what can happen to you?' 'Nothing can happen to me,' she replied, dolorously. 'Then, why so sad?' 'Because, from the outset I have foreseen something dark and dreadful, but I knew not what. I see myself in a strange place--but I know not where. I look around at the places which I know--and I cannot see myself. I am neither at Drury Lane nor the Garden: nor am I at Soho Square. I look in the grave, but I am not there. I am to live--but I know not where or how. All is to be changed----' 'Jenny,' Alice caught her hand. 'This reading of the future. It is wicked since the Lord hath not thought fit to reveal what is to happen.' She repeated stupidly, as one who understands not, 'Since the Lord--what Lord?--what do you mean? Alice, how can I help it? I can read the future. Sometimes it is like a printed book to me. Well--no matter. Farewell, Will. Sleep sound to-night. To-morrow we shall meet in the Court. Good-night, dear woman.' She threw her arms round Alice, kissed her and went away. And as for what passed between husband and wife--what tender things were said--what prayers for faith--on the eve of the day of Life or Death: of Honour or of Shame; shall they, too, be written on a page which is open to every curious eye and to every mocking eye? CHAPTER XII THE TRIAL