Errand,
Baronet.'

As the reading goes on Philippa is strangely moved.

'Basil,' she whispered, 'don't you see the splendid, unequalled chance
for an advertisement! I'll get up and make a speech, and say _I_ did it.
Of course they can't prove it, but it will set every one talking, and
bring hundreds of pounds into the house every night.'

I now observed that Philippa had half slipped off her mantle and bonnet.
Beneath these coverings she was dressed in wig and gown, like Mrs.
Weldon in the photographs.

'For goodness' sake, Philippa, _don't!_' I whispered.

The clerk turned to William Evans, the prisoner at the Bar.

'Are you guilty, or not guilty?'

In the silence a cigarette-ash might have been heard to drop, if any one
had been smoking.

The long silence was broken, but not by the prisoner.

By Philippa!

Rising to all her stately height, with her flowing robes around her, she
stood at bay. Then her clear deep voice rang out:--

'My lord, I was the party that did it!'

'Order in the court! order in the court!' cried the ushers.

'I commit you! I commit you!' thundered Lord Justice Juggins. 'Take her
away. Five years and hard labour.'

Struggling violently, Philippa was dragged away by the minions of the
law.

I notice one visitor turn round, and gaze at the commotion.

It is Mrs. Thompson, the Bearded Woman.

Silence has scarcely been restored, when it is again broken.

A manly form rises. A deep voice exclaims:--

'My lord, the prisoner is innocent. _I_ am the person whom he is said to
have murdered.'

The form, the voice--it is Sir Runan Errand!

Again I hear the sharp accents of Mr. Justice Juggins.

'Is this court a bear-garden or the House of Commons? Take that man out.
Give him five years and two dozen lashes.'

Scarcely had the court resumed its wonted aspect of business, scarcely
had the prisoner again been asked to plead, when a shrill voice
shattered the stillness.

'My lord, the key found in the prisoner's possession is my cellar-key.'

This time the bold interrupter was Mrs. Thompson, the Bearded Woman.

'Five years as usual, and hard labour,' said Sir Joshua Juggins,
wearily. He was tiring of his task. 'Please, my lord, it warn't none of
me,' came a hoarse whisper from the prisoner at the bar.

'Who asked _you_ to speak? Is that the way to plead?' snapped the judge.
'Give him five years also, for contempt of court.'

William Evans was carried out in hysterics.

The