ath in court?" father said in a stern voice.

"Oh, yes."

Father dropped my hand and leaned back. He looked puzzled. Mr.
Dingley came close to him and said something so low that I couldn't
catch it. But father answered in his usual voice as if he had
forgotten I was there, "No, Jim, if she says so then she did--be sure
of that!" He listened again while Mr. Dingley murmured to him, and the
look of their faces, the lowered, hushed tones of their voices, made me
feel, more than words could have done, that they were talking about
something very serious. All the while Mr. Dingley was speaking father
slowly nodded. "I have no doubt you could, Jim," he said at last, "and
it's very good of you to offer, but we can't suppress evidence because
it happens--" He dropped his voice and I lost the last word.

Mr. Dingley looked silently down for a moment, and I thought he was
going to say something more, but finally he only, shrugged. "Well,
what time do you want to go down, then?" he said.

Father looked at his watch. "We might as well get this business over
as soon as possible. Ellie--" His voice sounded so sharply on my name
that I jumped up, all of a nervous tremble. "Go up-stairs and put on
your bonnet, I want you to come with me."

I felt that my voice was woefully unsteady.

"Won't you please tell me what is happening and where we are going?"

"Martin Rood has been shot; he is dead. A man has been arrested,
corresponding to your description, and we are going down to the prison
to see if you can identify him." I stared at father, and my only
feeling was one of vague, incredulous wonder. Martin Rood, the fine
sleek gentleman whom I had seen swinging out of his gambling-house in
the late afternoons--could that have been he, that huddled heap of
clothes in the gutter?

"Quickly, Ellie," father's voice reminded me. I went stumbling
up-stairs in a burning excitement. I think I had some wild notion of
locking myself into my room and defying the house, for the idea of
facing that terrible man with his wild terror-stricken face threw me
into a panic. But Abby screamed at me that I was treading on my ruffle
as I came up-stairs, and captured me; and I let her put another gown on
me and my turban and a heavy veil without lifting a finger to help her,
as if I had been a child. I knew father was waiting for me at the foot
of the stairs, and there was no escape, I must go down. When I got
into the hall I saw that