pointed that out from the earliest days, though judges like, when they
can, to make the two seem one and the same. Chief Baron Bowes, I
remember, said in some case in 1743, 'The court can't determine what is
honor.' No, no; the two are different, and that difference will always
make trouble. Isn't it nearly tea time?"

* * * * *

Miss Beekman was just stepping off the elevator on the first floor of
the Tombs the next afternoon on one of her weekly visits when she came
face to face with Mr. Tutt.

She greeted him cordially, for she had taken rather a fancy to the
shabby old man, drawn to him, in spite of her natural aversion to all
members of the criminal bar, by the gentle refinement of his
weather-beaten face. "I hope you have had a successful day."

The lawyer shook his head in a pseudo-melancholy manner.

"Unfortunately, I have not," he answered whimsically. "My only client
refuses to speak to me! Perhaps you could get something out of him for
me."

"Oh, they all talk to me readily enough!" she replied. "I fancy they
know I'm harmless. What is his name?"

"Shane O'Connell."

"What is his offense?"

"He is charged with murder."

"Oh!"

Miss Althea recoiled. Her charitable impulses did not extend to
defendants charged with homicide. There was too much notoriety connected
with them, for one thing; there was nothing she hated so much as
notoriety.

"Seriously," he went on with earnestness, "I wish you'd have a word with
him. It's pretty hard to have to defend a man and not to know a thing
about his side of the case. It's almost your duty, don't you think?"

Miss Althea hesitated, and was lost.

"Very well," she answered reluctantly, "I'll see what I can do. Perhaps
he needs some medicine or letter paper or something. I'll get an order
from the warden and go right back and see him."

Twenty minutes later Shane O'Connell faced Miss Beekman sullenly across
the deal table of the counsel room. A ray of late sunshine fell through
the high grating of the heavily barred window upon a face quite
different from those which Miss Althea was accustomed to encounter in
these surroundings, for it showed no touch of depravity or evil habits,
and confinement had not yet deprived its cheeks of their rugged mantle
of crimson or its eyes of their bold gleam.

He was little more than a boy, this murderer, as handsome a lad as ever
swaggered out of County Kerry.

"An' what may it be that