"I would ignore his defalcation for your sake; but I am not a free agent in a case like this. You do not understand." "No, no," she said piteously, "everything is contained in one thought to me. They have taken my poor husband and treated him as if a thief." "Listen, my child," continued Sir Gordon, "I found that the valuable documents of scores of the customers of an old bank had been taken away. They were in your husband's charge." "Yes, but he says it can all be explained." Sir Gordon paused, tightening his lips, and a few indignant words trembled on the balance, but he spared the suffering woman's bleeding heart, and continued gravely: "I was bound in honour to consult with my partner at once, and the result you know." "Yes; he was arrested. You, you, Sir Gordon, gave the order." "Yes," he said gravely; "had I not, he would have been beaten and trampled to death by the maddened crowd. Millicent Hallam, be just in your anger. I saved his life." "Better death than dishonour," she cried passionately. "Amen!" he responded; and in imagination he saw before him the convict's cell, and went on picturing a horror from which he turned shuddering away. "Come," he said, "be sure of justice, my child. And now what can I do to help you? Money you must want." "No," she said drearily. "Well; means to procure good counsel for your husband's defence." "He said that you must have procured the counsel he already has." "I? No, my child; no, I did not even think of such a thing. How could I?" "Who then has paid fees to this man who has been to my husband?" "I do not know. I cannot say." Millicent rose heavily, her eyes wandering, her face deadly white. "I can do no more here," she said, wringing her hands and passing one over the other in a weak, helpless way; and as Sir Gordon watched her, he saw a faint smile come over her pinched features. She was gazing down at her wedding ring, which seemed during the past few weeks to have begun to hang loosely on her finger. She raised it reverently to her lips, and kissed it in a rapt, absent way, gazing round at last as if wondering why she was there. "Justice! You have promised justice," she cried suddenly, with a mental light irradiating her face. "I know I may trust you." "You may," he said reverently, for this woman's love seemed to inspire him with awe. "And you will forgive me--all I have said?" she whispered. "Forgive you?" he said, taking her hand and speaking gravely. "Millicent Hallam has no truer servant and friend than Gordon Bourne." "No truer servant and friend than Gordon Bourne," he repeated, as he returned to his room, after seeing the suffering wife to the door. "Ah! how Heaven's gifts are cast away here and there! What would my life have been if blessed by the love of this man's wife?" VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER NINETEEN. THE VERDICT.