aid, in the minister's handwriting. Caldigate had
showed it to her before their marriage, and she had kept it without any
opposition from him. Then she was asked as to her residence after her
marriage, and here she was less clear. She had lived with him first at
Ahalala and then at Nobble, but she could not say for how long. It had
been off and on. There had been quarrels, and after a time they had
agreed to part. She had received from him a certain amount of mining
shares and of money, and had undertaken in return never to bother him
any more. There was a great deal said about times and dates, which left
an impression upon those around her in the court that she was less sure
of her facts than a woman in such circumstances naturally would have
been.

Then Sir John produced the letter which she had written to Caldigate,
and in which she had distinctly offered to marry Crinkett if the money
demanded were paid. She must have expected the production of this
letter, but still, for a few moments, it silenced her. 'Yes,' she said,
at last, 'I wrote it.'

'And the money you demanded has been paid?'

'Yes, it has been paid. But not then. It was not paid till we came
over.'

'But if it had been paid then you would have--married Mr. Crinkett?' Sir
John's manner as he asked the question was so gentle and so soft that it
was felt by all to contain an apology for intruding on so delicate a
subject. But when she hesitated, he did, after a pause, renew his
inquiry in another form. 'Perhaps this was only a threat, and you had no
purpose of carrying it out.'

Then she plucked up her courage. 'I have not married him,' she said.

'But did you intend it?'

'I did. What were the laws to me out there? He had left me and had taken
another wife. I had to do the best for myself. I did intend it. But I
didn't do it. A woman can't be tried for her intentions.'

'No,' said Sir John. 'But she may be judged by her intentions.'

Then she was asked why she had not gone when she had got the money,
according to her promise. 'He defied us,' she said, 'and called us bad
names,--liars and perjurers. He knew that we were not liars. And then we
were watched and told that we might not go. As he said that he was
indifferent, I was willing enough to stay and see it out.'

'You cannot give us,' he asked again,--and this was his last
question,--'any clearer record of those months which you lived with your
husband?'

'No,' she said, 'I cannot. I kept