As though that word loosed the pent-up emotions and passions of the crowded place, and as though the grim satisfaction at the supposed justice of the thing can no longer be suppressed, a great cheer breaks out and rolls through the Court and out through echoing corridors into the street itself; where it is taken up by hundreds of throats and sent on and on to fill the town. Then following immediately on it and as suddenly as though no sound had been raised, fell a death-like silence; for Judge and prisoner are face to face—eye to eye. But though he were asked a thousand times, the prisoner has nothing to offer—except the simple words—“I am innocent.” Men whisper each other that he seems stunned. Some one glides behind the Judge and fits a square of black on his wig. The Judge has actually opened his mouth to speak, when there comes a sudden commotion at the doors; cries of remonstrance; people thrusting this way and that; and foremost of a little knot of people who seem to be fighting their way in—a woman. She stops for nothing—will be stopped by nothing. Men fall back from before her as though she had some power above mere humanity. Philip Chater turning towards where she comes, has a dim idea that Cripps—staggering and waving his arms; Betty Siggs, with her arms stretched out towards him; Captain Quist struggling fiercely with a gigantic constable—are all about that central figure. Then the imperious voice of the woman rings out above all the tumult. “Stop—in God’s name! That man is not Dandy Chater!” CHAPTER XXV GOING—GOING—GONE! Six months had gone by since Dandy Chater—(or Philip Chater as he really was)—stood on trial for his life; and with the turn of the year, Quist’s Royal Circus and Unparalleled Combination of Equestrian Talent had come again to Bamberton. Judging by the appearance of the Captain as he sat smoking his pipe on the steps of his caravan, the venture had been so far a profitable one; for the Captain was somewhat rounded and ruddier even than of old. It was the afternoon of a warm and sunny day, and the Captain was evidently very well pleased with the day and the world in general and himself in particular; for he smiled and chuckled over his pipe and gave himself sundry little soft slaps on the leg as though he had some joke which he greatly relished. Finding presently that it was quite impossible to keep the joke to himself, he threw his head back a little and called softly through the open door of the caravan. “Missis!” A muffled voice inside demanded to know what he wanted. “Where’s them there two turtle-doves?” asked the Captain in a heavy whisper. A sound as of some one moving in the caravan was heard, and then Mrs. Quist came to the door and stood above him. And Mrs. Quist—grim red-headed female that she was—actually smiled also and kicked Captain Quist softly in the small of the back.