Sergeant Burton was absent for a little while; but he returned in time to hear the concluding part of the opposing counsel's speech. It told hard against the accused, but the learned sergeant only smiled as he listened. He seemed to have grown wonderfully composed. Then the witnesses for the prosecution were called, and gave their evidence clearly enough. Some in court who had felt sure of Claude's innocence began to waver now. Who was with him at Leybridge? That was the point. There was no cross-examination of the witnesses. "I have no questions to ask," said the counsel. "My client admits the perfect truth of all the evidence." "This is my case, gentlemen of the jury," concluded the counsel for the prosecution, as he sat down. "And it is a strong one, too," thought most of the people present. "How can all these facts be explained away?" Then Sergeant Burton rose. "Gentlemen of the jury," he said, "this is the most painful case I have ever conducted; a more grievous mistake than this accusation of murder against an innocent gentleman has never been made. I will prove to you not only that he is quite innocent of the crime, but that, in his chivalrous generosity, he would rather have forfeited his life than utter one word in his own defense which would shadow, even in the slightest, a woman's honor. I will prove to you that, although the accused was at Leybridge with a lady, and not only spoke to, but relieved the deceased, yet that he is entirely innocent of the crime laid to his charge." The silence that followed was profound. For the first time Claude's face grew anxious and he looked hurriedly around. "The first witness I shall call," said the learned counsel, "is one who will tell you where Mr. Lennox spent his time on the night of the murder; will tell you how he relieved the poor woman; will, in short, give such evidence as shall entirely free him of the most foul charge. Call Miss Hyacinth Vaughan." At the mention of the name the prisoner started and his face flushed crimson. "Why did she come?" some one near heard him murmur. "I would have died for her." Then, amid profound and breathless silence, there entered the witness-box a graceful girlish figure, on which all eyes were immediately bent. She raised her veil, and a thrill of admiration went through that thronged assembly as the beautiful, colorless face, so lovely, so pure, so full of earnest purpose, was turned to the judge. She did not seem to notice the hundreds of admiring, wondering eyes--it was as though she stood before the judge alone. "Do not speak, Hyacinth," said the prisoner, vehemently; and in a low voice he added: "I can bear it all--do not speak." "Silence!" spoke the judge, sternly. "This is a court of justice; we must have no suppression of the truth." "Your name is Hyacinth Vaughan?" was the first question asked.