nd nose of the colour of an Orleans plum,
thoroughly realised my mental picture of the Bailie. His small,
blood-shot eyes twinkled with magisterial dignity and importance; and he
looked, beside Miss Percy--for I could not doubt that it was she--like a
satyr in charge of Florimel.

The last witness for the crown, a very noted police officer from
Glasgow, was then put into the box, to prove a previous conviction
against my friend M'Wilkin. This man bore a high reputation in his
calling, and was, indeed, esteemed as a sort of Scottish Vidocq, who
knew by headmark every filcher of a handkerchief between Caithness and
the Border. He met the bold broad stare of the prisoner with a kind of
nod, as much as to assure him that his time was very nearly up; and then
deliberately proceeded to take a hawk's-eye view of the assembly. I
noticed a sort of quiet sneer as he glanced at the Magistrate's box.

"Poor Strachan!" thought I. "His infatuation must indeed be palpable,
since even a common officer can read his secret in a moment."

I might just as well have tried to shake Ailsa Craig as to make an
impression upon this witness; however, heroically devoted to my trust, I
hazarded the attempt, and ended by bringing out several additional tales
of turpitude in the life and times of M'Wilkin.

"Make room there in the passage! The lady has fainted," cried the macer.

I started to my feet, and was just in time to see Miss Percy conveyed
from the court in an apparently inanimate state, by the Bailie and the
agitated Strachan.

"Devilish fine-looking woman that!" observed the Advocate-Depute across
the table. "Where did your friend Mr Strachan get hold of her?"

"I really don't know. I say--are you going to address the jury for the
crown?"

"It is quite immaterial. The case is distinctly proved, and I presume
you don't intend to speak?"

"I'm not so sure of that."

"Oh, well,--in that case I suppose I must say a word or two. This closes
the evidence for the crown, my lord," and the Depute began to turn over
his papers preparatory to a short harangue.

He had just commenced his speech, when I felt a hand laid upon my
shoulder. I looked around: Strachan was behind me, pale and almost
breathless with excitement.

"Fred--can I depend upon your friendship?"

"Of course you can. What's the row?"

"Have you ten pounds about you?"

"Yes--but what do you mean to do with them? Surely you are not going to
make a blockhead of yoursel