“After all,” he said to himself, “very likely the accident to Joseph is much exaggerated—people always lose their heads at such times. At all events his neck’s not broken, and he’s alive; the messenger doesn’t know exactly where he’s hurt. There’s no particular hurry.” But it so happened that there _was_ a particular cause for hurry. While Merton persuaded himself that he was looking after the cause of his murdered friend and revenging him, that friend’s dearest one—his Violet—was fast losing her patrimony. Even when the second messenger came with more exact intelligence, Merton thought—“Sometimes men lie for days with broken backs, and what does he want me for? His will is made; I’ve got it in my office, and a very just will it is. All his affairs are arranged, I believe. It’s all fuss and fidget.” However, he ordered his carriage to wait at the door of the Court, and half an hour afterwards the Bench reappeared. The Chairman said that although there was very little evidence against the prisoner Jenkins, although his character had been proved excellent, and although his solicitor had most ably conducted the defence, yet the Bench felt that the crime was one too serious for them to think of dismissing a suspected person. The prisoner would be committed for trial at the Assizes, which fortunately for him came on that day fortnight. A smile of triumph lit up Merton’s face as he gathered up his papers. The rival solicitor smiled too, and assured Aymer who was present to tell Violet what happened, that the grand jury would be certain to throw out the bill. There was not a tittle of evidence against the prisoner. With this assurance Aymer mounted and rode back to Violet. At the same time Merton, telling his coachman not to distress the horses, drove leisurely towards the death-bed, where he had been so anxiously expected for hours. The scene at that death-bed was extremely dreadful. The poor dying man gradually became more and more restless and excited; nor could all the efforts of Dr Parker, the persuasions of the clergyman, nor the tears of his wife and children, keep him calm. The thought of death—the idea of preparing for the hereafter never seemed to occur to him. His one wish was to see “Albert” and “Merton;” till feverish and his eye glittering with excitement, all that he could ejaculate was those two names. He remained for four hours quite conscious, and able to converse; then suddenly there was a change, and he lost the power of answering questions, though still faintly repeating those names. The scene was very shocking. “Why doesn’t Albert come?” said poor Mrs Herring. “He might have been here two hours ago. If Merton would not, Albert, my son, might have come.”