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poor old man! and no friend near him

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at the rail before him to steady himself, and
his colour changed so much at this part of the evidence that one of the turnkeys
offered him a glass of water, which he declined. He is a man of a strongly-built
frame, and with rather a morose and sullen cast of
countenance."
 
"My poor, poor Dixon!" said Ellinor, laying down the
paper for an instant, and she was near crying, only she had resolved to shed no
tears till she had finished all, and could judge of the chances. There were but
a few lines more: "At one time the prisoner seemed to be desirous of
alleging something in his defence, but he changed his mind, if such had been the
case, and in reply to Mr. Gordon (the magistrate) he only said, 'You've made a
pretty strong case out again me, gentlemen, and it seems for to satisfy you; so
I think I'll not disturb your minds by saying anything more.' Accordingly,
<?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns =
"urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" /><st1:place
w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Dixon</st1:City></st1:place>
now stands committed for trial for murder at the next Hellingford Assizes, which
commence on March the seventh, before Baron Rushton and Mr. Justice
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uot;
 
"Mr. Justice Corbet!" The words ran through Ellinor
as though she had been stabbed with a knife, and by an irrepressible movement
she stood up rigid. The young man, her lover in her youth, the old servant who
in those days was perpetually about her--the two who had so often met in
familiar if not friendly relations, now to face each other as judge and accused!
She could not tell how much Mr. Corbet had conjectured from the partial
revelation she had made to him of the impending shame that hung over her and
hers. A day or two ago she could have remembered the exact words she had used in
that memorable interview; but now, strive as she would, she could only recall
facts, not words. After all, the Mr. Justice Corbet might not be Ralph. There
was one chance in a hundred against the identity of the
two.
 
While
she was weighing probabilities in her sick dizzy mind, she heard soft steps
outside her bolted door, and low voices whispering. It was
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the bedtime of happy people with hearts at ease. Some of the footsteps
passed lightly on; but there was a gentle rap at Ellinor's door. She pressed her
two hot hands hard against her temples for an instant before she went to open
the door. There stood Mrs. Forbes in her handsome evening dress, holding a
lighted lamp in her hand.
 
"May I come in, my dear?" she asked. Ellinor's stiff
dry lips refused to utter the words of assent which indeed did not come readily
from her heart.
 
"I am so grieved at this sad news which the canon brings. I
can well understand what a shock it must be to you; we have just been saying it
must be as bad for you as it would be to us if our old Donald should turn out to
have been a hidden murderer all these years that he has lived with us; I really
could have as soon suspected Donald as that white-haired respectable old man who
used to come and see you at East
Chester."
 
Ellinor felt that she must say something. "It is a
terr
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ible shock--poor old man! and no friend near him, even Mr.
Osbaldistone giving evidence again him. Oh, dear, dear! why did I ever come to
<st1:City w:st="on"><st1:place
w:st="on">Rome</st1:place></st1:City>?"

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