together that single guinea, but no more.

'I have it. I'll go and see Tressamer about this. He goes there
still, and ought to know all about it.'

Tressamer was the name of his old friend. His chambers were in an
adjoining court of the Temple. Prescott put on his hat, told his clerk
where he was to be found, and strolled forth.

CHAPTER III.

COUNSEL FOR THE DEFENCE.

'Mr. Tressamer is inside, sir. Will you walk in?'

Thus said the clerk at Mr. Tressamer's chambers as soon as he saw Mr.
Prescott. Then, stepping to the door, he rapped and opened it, saying
the visitor's name.

'Well, Tressamer, where have you been this age?'

The speaker stopped, startled at the sight that presented itself, for
there, lying on his face on the hearthrug, with his hands clutching at
his thick black curls, lay George Tressamer, the very picture of one
in mortal despair.

He sprang to his feet as his friend entered, and made an awkward
attempt to behave as if he had not been seen.

'Why, Prescott, where do you come from, pray? More excursions to the
County Court, with the solicitors on opposite sides racing to you to
see which can get his brief into your hands first?'

Prescott thought it best to take the hint, and not remark on his
friend's trouble. He quietly answered:

'No; I've not been anywhere. Been in town, preparing for the assizes.
By-the-bye----' He paused to look for a chair, and was surprised to
find every one in the room littered with books. He proceeded to clear
the nearest to him, lifting the books on to the floor. 'I've just had
a brief to prosecute--Hullo! "Hawkins' Pleas of the Crown"! I had no
idea you were such a student--in that Porthstone case--the murder----'

Again he stopped short. A look of anguish had come into his friend's
face.

'What is it, old man? I can see something's gone wrong.'

'Charlie,' was the reply, spoken in a tone hardly above a whisper,
'are you prosecuting Eleanor Owen?'

Prescott nodded.

'And have you read your brief?'

'I've just come from it.'

'Then you can understand how I feel. I am defending her--and I love
her!'

He threw all the energy of his passionate nature into the last
sentence, and then sank down upon the window seat and hid his face
with his hands.

For several minutes neither spoke. Prescott hardly knew what course to
take. To offer to resign his brief might be to let it pass into the
hands of one who would share Mr. Pollard's prejudice again