rted out of the room to go upstairs. The other barristers
looked at each other and exchanged meaning glances. They did not like
to say much out loud before Prescott, who was known to be Tressamer's
friend; but they whispered together, and the tenor of their whispers
was precisely that of Prescott's own reflections. Tressamer, they
agreed, had lost his head through over-excitement, and would probably
create a scene in court that afternoon.

So anxious did Prescott feel, that he at last resolved to bare his own
feelings to his friend in the hope of thereby sobering him. He
accordingly went up to his bedroom, where he found him with his head
in a basin of water, and addressed him in very grave accents:

'George, you must listen to me. You have told me that you love Eleanor
Owen, and I suppose, as she has you to defend her, that she returns
your love. Now, I have a confession to make to you. I love her, too.'

'What! You, Charles!' He was certainly sobered for the moment.

'Yes. You know I saw something of her as a child. I was fond of
her then, I recollect. But to-day, when I saw her, so beautiful,
so innocent, in that dreadful place, I found another feeling
overmastering me. Oh, do not be afraid! She shall never know it. I
shall not try to take her from you. I am not the sort of man to rob
his friend. But, George, let me say this to you: that if anything--oh,
the thought is horrible!--if any miscarriage of justice should occur,
I shall blame you. I shall never forgive you if she comes to harm
through your means. Be careful. Oh, great Heaven, man, do your best,
your very best! It is the crisis of our lives--of all our lives.
Beware how you fail to prove yourself worthy of your trust.' And
without waiting for an answer he turned away, and hastened back to
his own work in the Nisi Prius Court.

In spite of the confident opinions expressed by the barristers, the
judge's mind was less firmly settled than they supposed. Sir Daniel
Buller was in the judges' private room at the court-house, sharing a
dish of cutlets with Sir John Wiseman. And, of course, they were
discussing the case.

'I tell you what it is, Wiseman,' the first judge was saying, 'there
is something in this case that hasn't come out yet. So far, there has
been absolutely no real defence. Waiter!'

The waiter darted into the room.

'Look at this cutlet! It's burnt to a cinder. Take it away. And tell
your cook, with my compliments, that it's always better