“I have no wish to set myself up above the fair practices of my profession, and am as ready to accept a fee as any man in Nassau-Street. Nevertheless, I took your case in hand with a very different motive. It would pain me to be obliged to work for a fee, on the present unhappy occasion.” Mary Monson looked grateful, and for a minute she seemed to be reflecting on some scheme by which she could devise a substitute for the old-fashioned mode of proceeding in a case of this sort. “You have a niece, Mr. Dunscomb,” she at length exclaimed—“as Marie Moulin informs me? A charming girl, and who is about to be married?” The lawyer assented by an inclination of the head, fastening his penetrating black eyes on the full, expressive, greyish-blue ones of his companion. “You intend to return to town this evening?” said Mary Monson, in continuation. “Such is my intention. I came here to-day to confer with you and Mr. Timms, on the subject of the trial, to see how matters stand on the spot, by personal observation, and to introduce to you one who feels the deepest interest in your welfare and desires most earnestly to seek your acquaintance.” The prisoner was now silent, interrogating with her singularly expressive eyes. “It is Anna Updyke, the step-daughter of my nearest friend, Dr. McBrain; and a very sincere, warm-hearted, and excellent girl.” “I have heard of her, too,” returned Mary Monson, with a smile so strange, that her counsel wished she had not given this demonstration of a feeling that seemed out of place, under all the circumstances. “They tell me she is a most charming girl, and that she is a very great favourite with your nephew, the young gentleman whom I have styled my legal vidette.” “Vidette! That is a singular term to be used by _you_!” “Oh! you will remember that I have been much in countries where such persons abound. I must have caught the word from some of the young soldiers of Europe. But, Mr. John Wilmeter is an admirer of the young lady you have named?” “I hope he is. I know of no one with whom I think he would be more likely to be happy.” Dunscomb spoke earnestly, and at such times his manner was singularly sincere and impressive. It was this appearance of feeling and nature that gave him the power he possessed over juries; and it may be said to have made no small part of his fortune. Mary Monson seemed to be surprised; and she fastened her remarkable eyes on the uncle, in a way that might have admitted of different interpretations. Her lips moved as if she spoke to herself; and the smile that succeeded was both mild and sad. “To be sure,” added the prisoner, slowly, “my information is not on the very best authority, coming, as it does, from a servant—but Marie Moulin is both discreet and observant.” “She is tolerably well qualified to speak of Anna Updyke, having seen her almost daily for the last two years. But, we are all surprised that _you_ should know anything of this young woman.”