“Caillaud’s trial is to take place next week,” he observed after a long pause. “Horrible man!” she exclaimed, with a sudden increase of energy. “I understand that it was in defending him Major Maitland lost his life.” “My dear, you are quite wrong. He was defending Major Maitland, and shot the soldier who killed him.” “Quite wrong, am I? Of course I am quite wrong!” “I was at head-quarters, you remember.” “Yes, you were; but you were not near Major Maitland.” Zachariah raised his eyes; he thought he detected, he was sure he detected, in the tone of this sentence a distinct sneer. “I was not with Major Maitland; my duties called me elsewhere; but I am more likely to know what happened than any gossiping outsider.” “I don’t believe in your foreign infidels.” “_My_ foreign infidels! You have no right to call them my infidels, if you mean that, I am one. But let me tell you again you are mistaken. Besides, supposing you are right, I don’t see why he should be a horrible man. He will probably be executed for what he did.” “It was he and that daughter of his who dragged you and the Major into all this trouble.” “On the contrary, Caillaud, as well as myself and the Major, did all we could to prevent the march. You must admit I understand what I am talking about. I was at every meeting.” “As usual, nothing I say is right. It was to be expected that you would take the part of the Caillauds.” Zachariah did not reply. It was supper-time; the chapter from the Bible was duly read, the prayer duly prayed, and husband and wife afterwards once more, each in turn, silently at the bedside, with more or less of sincerity or pathos, sought Him who was the Maker of both. It struck Zachariah during his devotions—a rather unwelcome interruption—that his wife as well as himself was in close communication with the Almighty. CHAPTER XV END OF THE BEGINNING THE trial took place at Lancaster. Zachariah was sorely tempted to go; but, in the first place, he had no money, and, in the second place, he feared arrest. Not that he would have cared two pins if he had been put into jail; but he could not abandon his wife. He was perfectly certain what the result would be, but nevertheless, on the day when the news was due, he could not rest. There was a mail coach which ran from Lancaster to Liverpool, starting from Lancaster in the afternoon and reaching Liverpool between eleven and twelve at night. He went out about that time and loitered about the coach-office as if he were waiting for a friend. Presently he heard the wheels and the rapid trot of the horses. His heart failed him, and he could almost have fainted. “What’s the news?” said the clerk to the coachman. “All the whole d—d lot convicted, and one of ’em going to be hung.” “One of them hung! Which one is that?” “Why, him as killed the soldier, of course—the Frenchman.”