“Think on it, my lass,” went on the Captain gently. “The one boy—an’ ’im the youngest—brought up in luxury, an’ with powdered lacqueys for to wait on ’im at every turn; the other—an’ ’im the eldest—sent miles across the sea, an’ roughin’ it like any common child. Lost in the bush, ’e was—pitched about from one place to another—’omeless, friendless, without a compass. But—an’ mark you this, my lass—if ever a boy steered ’isself straight by the stars o’ God, that boy Phil did. An’ when at last ’e comes ’ome, with no thought in ’is ’eart of anythink but a ’earty greetin’ for ’is brother, an’ a share-and-share alike business with that brother—an’ finds ’im dead—wot do ’e do? I put it to you, Miss—wot do my pal Phil do?” She looked at him, with a brighter face, and slowly shook her head. “My pal Phil finds as that brother of ’is loved a young gel—(an’ I don’t need look far, for to find that young gel to-night!)—an’ was loved by ’er. Phil is took for the real Dandy by that young gel—an’ ’e loves ’er! Bein’ afeard that, if she knowed the truth, she would cast ’im off, ’e takes ’is brother’s place—’is brother’s sins—dips ’is clean ’ands, so to speak, in the blood that guilty brother shed—an’ all—mark you this, my lass—all for love of that young gel. An’, for love of ’er—the Judge will cry ‘Death!’ on Phil Chater to-morrer!” The Captain, in his honest excitement and admiration, had risen to his feet, and waved one arm above his head. Madge had risen, too, with almost equal excitement. “There was one man as could ’ave saved ’im—a man of the name of Ogledon——” “Ogledon is dead,” said Madge. “He died to-night, and can do neither good nor harm any more. But we”—she looked round quickly at both men—“we can save him; we can prove to all the world that this man is innocent, and is suffering for another. The trial is to-morrow—the first on the day’s list. We must reach Chelmsford to-morrow morning; we must save this man!” The Captain looked at her, in an excess of admiration. “My lass,” he said slowly—“I ain’t surprised that my pal Phil should ’ave gorn through wot ’e ’as, for sich a gel! I’d ’ave disowned ’im, if ’e’d done less!” * * * * * The sun is shining brightly outside the crowded court-house; and men and women, densely packed within the walls, glance up at the grimy windows, and from them to the prisoner, and wonder, perhaps, what he is thinking about. The prisoner, for his part, scarcely makes a movement—scarcely turns his weary eyes round when any one speaks. For hope has gone out of him; the battle has been fought and lost; the murderer of the real Dandy Chater is dead and has carried his secret into another Place where all secrets are known. The crowd of faces about him bears but one stamp upon it all—hard, unrelenting, vengeful, every face there looks upon him with certainty as a dead man and is glad to think that he gets what he deserves.