you can at least advise me
what to do."

"If your trouble has come," answered Ferris, with a shade of irony in
his voice, "through following the advice that I have already given you,
I shall endeavour, as well as I am able, to help you out of it."

"You know very well," cried Brenton, hotly, "that my whole trouble
has occurred through neglecting your advice, or, at least, through
deliberately not following it. I _could_ not follow it."

"Very well, then," said Ferris, "I am not surprised that you are in a
difficulty. You must remember that such a crisis is an old story with us
here."

"But, my dear sir," said Brenton, "look at the appalling condition of
things, the knowledge of which has just come to me. It seems I was
poisoned, but of course that doesn't matter. I feel no resentment
against the wretch who did it. But the terrible thing is that my wife
has been arrested for the crime, and I have just learned that her own
lawyers actually believe her guilty."

"That fact," said Ferris, calmly, "will not interfere with their
eloquent pleading when the case comes to trial."

Brenton glared at the man who was taking things so coolly, and who
proved himself so unsympathetic; but an instant after he realized the
futility of quarrelling with the only person who could give him advice,
so he continued, with what patience he could command--

"The situation is this: My wife has been arrested for the crime of
murdering me. She is now in the custody of the sheriff. Her trouble and
anxiety of mind are fearful to contemplate."

"My dear sir," said Ferris, "there is no reason why you or anybody else
should contemplate it."

"How can you talk in that cold-blooded way?" cried Brenton, indignantly.
"Could you see _your_ wife, or any one _you_ held dear, incarcerated for
a dreadful crime, and yet remain calm and collected, as you now appear
to be when you hear of another's misfortune?"

"My dear fellow," said Ferris, "of course it is not to be expected that
one who has had so little experience with this existence should have any
sense of proportion. You appear to be speaking quite seriously. You do
not seem at all to comprehend the utter triviality of all this."

"Good gracious!" cried Brenton, "do you call it a trivial thing that a
woman is in danger of her life for a crime which she never committed?"

"If she is innocent," said the other, in no way moved by the indignation
of his comrade, "surely that state of things will b