g husband, or Dick Shand a truth-speaking witness, was to
her thinking much more improbable than that a camel should go through
the eye of a needle. She would press her lips together and grind her
teeth and shake her head when any one about her spoke of a doubt. The
man was in prison, at any rate for two years,--locked up safe for so
much time, as it might be a wild beast which with infinite trouble had
been caged. And now they were talking of undoing the bars and allowing
the monster to gorge himself again with his prey!

'If the Queen were told the truth she would never do it,' she said to
her amazed husband. 'The Queen is a mother and a woman who kneels in
prayer before her Maker. Something should be done, so that the truth may
be made known to her.'

To illuminate all the darkness which was betrayed by this appeal to him
was altogether beyond Mr. Bolton's power. He appreciated the depth of
the darkness. He knew, for instance, that the Queen herself would in
such a matter act so simply in accordance with the advice of some one
else, that the pardon, if given, would not in the least depend on her
Majesty's sentiments. To call it the Queen's pardon was a simple figure
of speech. This was manifest to him, and he was driven to endeavour to
make it manifest to her. She spoke of a petition to be sent direct to
the Queen, and insinuated that Robert Bolton, if he were anything like a
real brother, would force himself into her Majesty's presence. 'It isn't
the Queen,' said her husband.

'It is the Queen. Mercy is the prerogative of the Crown. Even I know as
much as that. And she is to be made to believe that this is mercy!'

'Her Majesty does what her Ministers tell her.'

'But she wouldn't if she was told the truth. I do not for a moment
believe that she would allow such a man as that to be let loose about
the world like a roaring lion if she knew all that you and I know. Mercy
indeed!'

'It won't be meant for mercy, my dear.'

'What then? Do you not know that the man has another wife alive,--a wife
much more suited to him than our poor darling? Nobody would hear my
voice while there was yet time. And so my child, my only one, was taken
away from me by her own father and her own brothers, and no one now will
exert himself to bring her back to her home!' The poor old man had had
but little comfort in his home since his daughter's marriage, and was
now more miserable than ever.

Then there came a letter from Hester to