d hang. Among those on the inside it was also known that the
clever but dissipated Augustus Burlingame, the counsel for the prisoner,
had a grudge against Crozier,--no one quite knew why except Kitty Tynan
and her mother, and that cross-examination would be pressed mercilessly
when Crozier entered the witness-box. As Burlingame came into the
court-room he said to the Young Doctor--he was always spoken of as the
Young Doctor in Askatoon, though he had been there a good many years
and he was no longer as young as he looked--who was also called as a
witness, "We'll know more about Mr. J. G. Kerry when this trial is over
than will suit his book." It did not occur to Augustus Burlingame that
in Crozier, who knew why he had fled the house of the showy but virtuous
Mrs. Tynan, he might find a witness of a mental and moral calibre with
baffling qualities and some gift of riposte.

Crozier entered the witness-box at a stage when excitement was at fever
height; for the M'Mahon Gang had given evidence which every one believed
to be perjured; and the widow of the slain man was weeping bitterly in
her seat because of noxious falsehoods sworn against her honest husband.

There was certainly something credible and prepossessing in the look of
Crozier. He might be this or that, but he carried no evil or vice of
character in his face. He was in his grave mood this summer afternoon.
There he stood with his long face and the very heavy eyebrows,
clean-shaven, hard-bitten, as though by wind and weather, composed
and forceful, the mole on his chin a kind of challenge to the
vertical dimple in his cheek, his high forehead more benevolent than
intellectual, his brown hair faintly sprinkled with grey and a bit
unmanageable, his fathomless eyes shining. "No man ought to have such
eyes," remarked a woman present to the Young Doctor, who abstractedly
nodded assent, for, like Malachi Deely and John Sibley, he himself had a
theory about Crozier; and he had a fear of what the savage enmity of the
morally diseased Burlingame might do. He had made up his mind that so
intense a scrupulousness as Crozier had shown since coming to Askatoon
had behind it not only character, but the rigidity of a set purpose; and
that view was supported by the stern economy of Crozier's daily life,
broken only by sudden bursts of generosity for those in need.

In the box Crozier kept his eye on the crown attorney, who prosecuted,
and on the judge. He appeared not to see a