"As to the main charge," resumed Mr. Bromley, "that is ridiculous. It is based on an unfortunate accident to an Indian child years ago. The distorted yarn was published in a late issue of a sensational magazine. No doubt, most of you have read it, since it was widely circulated. Different--isn't it?--from that other story of Mr. Tisdale which came down from Cascade tunnel. Gentlemen, I have the letter that was enclosed with the manuscript that was submitted to _Sampson's Magazine_. It was not written by the author, James Daniels, but by a lady, who had offered to dispose of the material for him, and who, without his knowledge, substituted a revised copy." Miles Feversham had subsided, dumbfounded, into his chair; his self-sufficiency had deserted him; for a moment the purple color surged in his face; his chagrin overwhelmed him. But Marcia, seated in the front row outside the bar, showed no confusion. Her brilliant, compelling eyes were on her husband. It was as though she wished to reinforce him, and at the same time convey some urgent, vital thought. He glanced around and, reading the look, started again to his feet. He began to retract his denunciation. It was evident he had been misinformed; he offered his apologies to the witness and asked that the case be resumed. But the prosecuting attorney, disregarding him, continued to explain. "In the Daniels' manuscript, gentlemen, a coroner's inquest exonerated the man who was responsible for the death of the papoose; this the magazine suppressed. I am able to offer in evidence James Daniels' affidavit." Then, while the jury gathered these varying ideas in fragments, Lucky Banks' treble rose. "Let's hear what the lady wrote." And some one at the back of the courtroom said in a deep voice; "Read the lady's letter." It seemed inevitable. Mr. Bromley had separated a letter from the bundle of papers. Involuntarily Marcia started up. But the knocking of the gavel, sounding smartly, insistently, above the confusion, brought unexpected deliverance. "It is unnecessary to further delay this Court with this issue," announced the judge. "The case before the jury already has dragged through nearly four weeks, and it should be conducted as expeditiously as possible to a close. Mr. Bromley, the witness is sustained." Marcia settled back in her place; Miles Feversham, like a man who has slipped on the edge of a chasm, sat a moment longer, gripping the arms of his chair; then his shifting look caught Frederic's wide-eyed gaze of uncomprehending innocence, and he weakly smiled. "Mr. Tisdale," began the prosecution, putting aside his papers and endeavoring to focus his mind again on the case, "you have spent some years with the Alaska division of the Geological Survey?" "Every open season and some of the winters for a period of ten years, with the exception of three which I also spent in Alaska."