while about to do so," cried Roland, angrily.

"I cautioned you, rather, against any disclosures which, whatever your
innocence, might augment suspicion against you," said the judge, mildly.

"These distinctions are too subtle for me, my Lord. The insult of such
an accusation ought to be enough, without the aggravation of chicanery."
Then, turning to Meek, Roland went on: "You, at least, are above this
meanness, and will listen to me patiently. Look here." He took a sheet
of paper as he spoke, and proceeded with a pen to mark out the direction
of the two roads from Drumcoologan to Tubbermore. "Here stands the
village; the road by which we travelled in the morning takes this line,
skirting the base of the mountain towards the north: the path by which
I returned follows a shorter course, and after crossing a little rivulet
here, comes out at Ennismore, somewhere about this point."

Just as Roland's description reached thus far, a large drop of blood
oozed from his wounded hand, and fell heavily upon the paper. There
seemed something so terribly significant in its falling exactly on the
very spot where the murdered body was found, that each looked at the
other in anxious dread; and then, as if with a common impulse, every eye
was bent on Cashel, who, heart-sick with indignant anger, stood unable
to utter a word.

"I pray you, sir, do not misconstrue my advice," said the judge, mildly,
"nor resent a counsel intended for your good. Every explanation you may
offer, hereafter, will be serviceable to your case; every detail you
enter into, now, necessarily vague, and unsupported as it must be by
other testimony, will only be injurious to you."

Cashel seated himself in a chair, and crossing his arms, seemed to be
lost in thought; then, suddenly starting to his feet, he cried,--

"Is all this a deep-laid scheme against my honor and my life, or do you,
indeed, desire to trace this crime to its author? If so, let us mount
our horses and scour the country; let us search every cabin; let us try
if some discovery of a weapon--"

"Ech, sirs, we hae the weapon!" said Sir Andrew, with a sardonic grin;
"an' it's muckle like to its brither yonder," pointing to the open
pistol-case.

Roland turned suddenly, and now for the first time perceived that one
of his pistols was missing from the case. Up to this moment his anger
at the suspicions directed towards him was mingled with a degree of
contemptuous disregard of them; but now, su