he, "I wish to add my own
exhortation to that of your colonel! Your position has become extremely
perilous. If you are concealing anything that may extricate you from
it, let me enjoin you to take the court frankly and fully into your
confidence."

The words in themselves were kindly, but through them ran a note of
bitterness, of cruel derision, that was faintly perceptible to Tremayne
and to one or two others.

Lord Wellington's piercing eyes looked a moment at O'Moy, then turned
upon the prisoner. Suddenly he spoke, his voice as calm and level as his
glance.

"Captain Tremayne--if the president will permit me to address you in
the interests of truth and justice--you bear, to my knowledge, the
reputation of an upright, honourable man. You are a man so unaccustomed
to falsehood that when you adventure upon it, as you have obviously just
done, your performance is a clumsy one, its faults easily distinguished.
That you are concealing something the court must have perceived. If you
are not concealing something other than that Count Samoval fell by
your hand, let me enjoin you to speak out. If you are shielding any
one--perhaps the real perpetrator of this deed--let me assure you that
your honour as a soldier demands, in the interests of truth and justice,
that you should not continue silent."

Tremayne looked into the stern face of the great soldier, and his glance
fell away. He made a little gesture of helplessness, then drew himself
stiffly up.

"I have nothing more to say."

"Then, Captain Tremayne," said the president, "the court will pass to
the consideration of its finding. And if you cannot account for the
half-hour that you spent at Monsanto while Count Samoval was meeting his
death, I am afraid that, in view of all the other evidences against you,
your position is likely to be one of extremest gravity.

"For the last time, sir, before I order your removal, let me add my own
to the exhortations already addressed to you, that you should speak. If
still you elect to remain silent, the court, I fear, will be unable to
draw any conclusion but one from your attitude."

For a long moment Captain Tremayne stood there in tense, expectant
silence. Yet he was not considering; he was waiting. Lady O'Moy he knew
to be in court, behind him. She had heard, even as he had heard, that
his fate hung perhaps upon whether Richard Butler's presence were to be
betrayed or not. Not for him to break faith with her. Let her deci