"Exactly. And you have, therefore, no reason to believe he was shamming slumber." "I believe I am getting very tired of your questions and cross-questions," she said, irritably. "Now, what a pity!" remarked her tormentor; "for I could never tire of your answers. At all events, Miss Elmsdale could not have heard him whining in the library--so called." "She might have heard some other dog," said Miss Blake. "As a matter of fact, however, she stated to you there was no dog in the room." "She did. But I don't think she knew whether there was or not." "In any case, she did not see a dog; you did not see one; and the servants did not." "I did not," replied Miss Blake; "as to the servants, I would not believe them on their oath." "Hush! hush! Miss Blake," entreated our opponent. "I am afraid you must not be quite so frank. Now to return to business. When Miss Elmsdale recovered consciousness, which she did in that very comfortable easy-chair in the dining-room--what did she tell you?" "Do you think I am going to repeat her half-silly words?" demanded Miss Blake, angrily. "Poor dear, she was out of her mind half the time, after her father's death." "No doubt; but still, I must just ask you to tell us what passed. Was it anything like this? Did she say, 'I have seen my father. He was coming out of the strong-room when I lifted my head after looking for Juan, and he was wringing his hands, and seemed in some terrible distress'?" "God forgive them that told you her words," remarked Miss Blake; "but she did say just those, and I hope they'll do you and her as played eavesdropper all the good I wish." "Really, Miss Blake," interposed the judge. "I have no more questions to ask, my lord," said Colonel Morris' counsel, serenely triumphant. "Miss Blake can go down now." And Miss Blake did go down; and Taylor whispered in my ear: "She had done for us." 6. WE AGREE TO COMPROMISE Colonel Morris' side of the case was now to be heard, and heads were bending eagerly forward to catch each word of wisdom that should fall from the lips of Serjeant Playfire, when I felt a hand, cold as ice, laid on mine, and turning, beheld Miss Blake at my elbow. She was as white as the nature of her complexion would permit, and her voice shook as she whispered: "Take me away from this place, will you?" I cleared a way for her out of the court, and when we reached Westminster Hall, seeing how upset she seemed, asked if I could get anything for her--"a glass of water, or wine," I suggested, in my extremity. "Neither water nor wine will mend a broken heart," she answered, solemnly; "and mine has been broken in there"--with a nod she indicated the court we had just left. Not remembering at the moment an approved recipe for the cure of such a fracture, I was cudgelling my brains to think of some form of reply not likely to give offence, when, to my unspeakable relief, Mr. Craven came up to where we stood.