For Her Sister's Sake, OR, THE LAVENDEN SECRET.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXIX, Issue 8366, 23 February 1907, Page 2

For Her Sister's Sake, OR, THE LAVENDEN SECRET.

CHAPTER XXXVll.—Continued

There was a faint and sibilant sound in the crowded court—the sound of low, contemptuous hissing. A red flush sprang into the face of the great criminal pleader, and he flashed a haughty, disdainful glance about him. The withered, red-robed figure on the bench above looked up with a stern, inquiring gaze, and a harsh cry of "SLenee!" burst from one official and another. The famous lawyer continued icily: "The fear of losing, by the betrayal of damaging facts, the love of some highly valued person is a powerful incentive to .violence, whether in the or the stronger sex, and it haVnot been left to conjecture in this case- to justify our recollection of the point. On the day that the prisoner took the revolver from that drawer in the library of Lavenden House, loaded it, and stole out to pay her fatal visit to the rooms of her old lover, she must have had tnat fear to which I have alluded." "My lord!" Edward Agnew had risen to his feet, white as marble,and with a diamond-like glitter in the depths of his dark eyes. The judge lifted a gentle hand. "Mr Agnew," he said, "let me entreat you to extend to the learned counsel that patience and sympathy which you yourself have obtained. It is his duty to bring to bear upon the elucidation of this sad case every possible consideration that may help the jury to a decision. That duty will shortly also be mine ,and I cannot hope to discharge it with more dispassionate conscientiousness than the learned counsel." Agnew sank into his seat and hid his face. His opponent hesitated for an instant. "I—l thank your lordship," he faltered. "Mine is a painful task, and I could wish that it had fallen to some other than myself. Heaven forbid that I should exceed the bounds of the most temperate moderation in stating the case for the prosecution against any prisoner. But I would remind the court and the jury that in England we are not used to allow the atmosphere of youth and romance to obscure and defeat the ends of that justice which we prize so highly. The prisoner, on her own confession, is the authoress of James Garth's death, and James Garth died from one of two shots fired by the woman who had everything to gain by the permanent burial of the secrets that he held. I leave it to the jury to give those facts their full and proper weight. I have urged them with reluctance and distaste, but with a painful consciousness of their gravity and significance. I will say no more; I need sav no more."

He ceased, and with a rustle of his silken robe, sat down.

The judge turned a sheet of his manuscript, and glanced at the jury. Their eyes met his, and rested there. In tones so low as almost to be inaudible outside the immediate neighbourhood of the bench, he spoke to them for some twenty minutes. And more than once his voice—the grave, musical voice of an eloquent old manquavered and broke. When he had finished, the twelve jurymen rose stumblingly and [filed out of their enclosure into their con-sulting-room The wardresses in the dock roused themselves to lead away their unresisting charge. In the court, men and women looked at one another with a strange, shuddering sense of anticipation. For the judge's charge was decidedly "against" the prisoner.

.. ..,.„., CHAPTER XXXVIII. GUILTY, OR NOT GUILTY? "No news yet?" Edward Agnew shook his head mutely. Entering a small, bare, room that opened from a corridor of the court, he had come face to face with Julia Lavenden, She had risen slowly from a comfortless wooden chair, to stand a moment with outstretched arm before asking her melancholy question. Gentle hands drew her back again into her seat — they were those of a woman in a nurse's uniform. Her attendant was Sister May. The room was dingy and forlorn, with high, grim windows. A single . gleam of afternoon sunshine stole through one of the upper panes to make a patch of yellow radiance on the soiled wall. It fell in passing upon a head almost as golden as itself —Constance Istria was lounging languidly in a distant corner of the apartment. She had glanced up when Agnew entered, but did not move from her place. Julia Lavenden spoke again, moistening painfully her parched lips. "They are a long time—it's an hour since " Agnew shook his head again. He was deathly pale, and his cheeks were drawn like those of a dying man. "No," he said; "only half that. But we must be glad of that—it means disagreement. The—the summing up was—was not in our favour." Julia wrung her hands convulsively. "It was cruel, cruel I" she moaned. "Why—why will they not see my darling as she is? She—she •could not —do and think as they say. But the jury will be different; they are human beings, not—not lawyers and police." Edward Agnew did not answer her desperate outburst. He had left the door open, and his ear was strained to catch the least sound from the corridor without. "Try and be patient," he said; ■"delay is all to the good. Many juries disagree alogether, and have to be discharged. In a case like the

By R. Norman Silver, thor of "A Double Mask," "1 Biur/hter of Mystery, "}TelrtlApart, K "The Golden Dwarf," etc.

["For Her Sister's Sake " was commenced on December 20th.]

present that is practically a victory for the defence. Be brave and hopeful; she would wish it." J His voice failed him, and he turned away. Constance Istria rose and reached his side as he gained the threshold of the room. She laid her finger-tips upon his arm, and he paused, encountering her gaze with j stern self-possession. Even in the 1 gloomy little room and in her dark garments „she was haughtily, ra-"' diantly beautiful. friend," she whispered, "wUUPS not tell me the I am n&weakling. Is there really :£ny hope?" ,«v,;^r Agnew moved his arm soihatrthe gloved fingers dropped from it. "There is always hope," he said, "for those who .are-innocent." Constance Istria's long lashes drooped an instant over her violet pupils, and she bent ; her head in a kind of cold tolerance?' "As you will," she answered, "I am sorry for you, in any case. You cannot say I did not warn you." There was a bitter sneer in the .words, and Edward Agnew's face set in hard disdain. "There are some women," he said ! in a low, fierce tone, "whom it is happiness to love, even in the shadow of death and shame—others who prove a curse in the midst of good fortune. I would not change | the one for the other." I He turned on his heel and went out of the room. There were many people in the corridor—lawyers with ' their clerks, police officials, and i detectives. They looked at him with I sympathetic curiosity. But he strode I by them as if he did not see them, and made his way to a door guarded jby a policeman. The latter stood 1 aside respectfully, and Agnew passed on. He had entered the court to the left of the jury-box. It was empty, nor was the judge upon the bench. Yet a sprinkinlg of patient spectators occupied the court-room, and a ! murmurous hum came from the gal- ! lery. It was the public discussing I Winifred Lavenden's tragical romance, f In a corner by the deserted jurybox sat two men —one in clerical ' garb, the other in a long, shabby, i many-buttoned overcoat. They were j Peter Crimple and Charles Ingram. I At sight of Agnew the curate left his companion and came to meet the ; lawyer. The friends exchanged a ! silent hand-clasp, firm and lingering. Yet each shunned the other's ' glance. I "This delay is, on the whole, a, ' good sign, is it not?" murmured j the curate. Agnew bent his head in assent. j* "On the whole, yes," he said; , "but it—it is very' cruel for —for her!" He could scarcely form the concluding word. "Not so cruel as the summing up," answered Charles Ingram. "How heartless, how soulless, the law can be! lam sure the public are on her side, and surely the jury will incline to the same side as public opinion." "That is my chief hope," said Agnew huskily. ! He stopped abruptly. There was a sudden thrill in the air, and the sound of an opening door. The court filled as if by magic as the straggling line of somberly dressed jurors began clumsily to regain their places in the jury-box. ■Agnew tottered where he stood; then, controlling himself with a supreme effort, he moved to his seat. Those whom he passed noticed that his eyes were glassy and his jaw set. The doors of the court were closed. The judge—a bowed, scarlet-robed figure—glided to the bench, and the clerk called tremulously for silence. Then the clerk rose at his desk below the bench and put, almost inaudibly, the fatal question. Winifred Lavenden heard it as she stole forward to the front of the dock, leaning upon the wardresses as a woman leans upon'women in the hour of extremity. Yet she did not look at the men who held her fate in their, hands; in all the crowded court she beheld only Edward Agnew's face. And Peter Crimple, peering out of the little, : throng that had sprung up about him, beheld only hers. j "How say you, gentlemen, have you agreed upon your verdict?" The foreman of the jury answered with difficulty, and a shudder went thi'ough the listeners. They guessed, and dreaded to guess, what that hoarsely murmured assent might mean. "Do you find the prisoner guilty, or not guilty?" The reply hung a moment on the speaker's lips. It came at length, a groan rather than a sentence: "Guilty, with the strongest recommendation to mercy." A sudden hush froze the crowded court, and in that hush the withered hand of the old, scarlet-robed man on the bench took up something soft and black. Peter Crimple saw it and cried out: (To be Continued).