her was subtle, finely sensuous, and, in deciding,
there were no mere heart-impulses working for Charley. Instinct and
impulse were working in another direction. She had not committed her
mind to either man, though her heart, to a point, was committed to
Fairing.

On the day of the trial, however, she fell wholly under that influence
which had swayed judge, jury, and public. To her the verdict of the jury
was not in favour of the prisoner at the bar--she did not think of him.
It was in favour of Charley Steele.

And so, indifferent as to who heard, over the heads of the people in
front of her, to the accused's counsel inside the railings, she had
called, softly: "Charley! Charley!"

Now, in the house under the hill, they were face to face, and the end
was at hand: the end of something and the beginning of something.

There was a few moments of casual conversation, in which Billy talked as
much as anybody, and then Kathleen said:

"What do you suppose was the man's motive for committing the murder?"

Charley looked at Kathleen steadily, curiously, through his monocle. It
was a singular compliment she paid him. Her remark took no heed of
the verdict of the jury. He turned inquiringly towards the judge, who,
though slightly shocked by the question, recovered himself quickly.

"What do you think it was, sir?" Charley asked quietly.

"A woman--and revenge, perhaps," answered the judge, with a
matter-of-course air.

A few moments afterwards the judge was carried off by Kathleen's uncle
to see some rare old books; Billy, his work being done, vanished; and
Kathleen and Charley were left alone.

"You did not answer me in the court-room," Kathleen said. "I called to
you."

"I wanted to hear you say them here," he rejoined. "Say what?" she
asked, a little puzzled by the tone of his voice.

"Your congratulations," he answered.

She held out a hand to him. "I offer them now. It was wonderful. You
were inspired. I did not think you could ever let yourself go."

He held her hand firmly. "I promise not to do it again," he said
whimsically.

"Why not?"

"Have I not your congratulations?" His hand drew her slightly towards
him; she rose to her feet.

"That is no reason," she answered, confused, yet feeling that there was
a double meaning in his words.

"I could not allow you to be so vain," he said. "We must be
companionable. Henceforth I shall congratulate myself--Kathleen."

There was no mistaking now. "Oh, wh