Amid the great crises of life its small proprieties must still be observed. This the Countess of Hurstmonceux knew. And, therefore, as soon as she had seen Claudia reposing on her comfortable sofa in her chamber, she ordered her carriage and drove to Edinboro', and to a celebrated mourning warehouse where they got up outfits on the shortest notice, and there she procured a widow's complete dress, including the gown, mantle, bonnet, veil, and gloves, and took them home to Claudia. For she knew that if Lady Vincent were compelled to appear in the public courtroom the next day, she must wear widow's weeds.

When she took these articles into Claudia's room and showed them to her, the latter said:

"My dear Berenice, I thank you very much for your thoughtful care.

But do you know that it would seem like hypocrisy in me to wear this mourning?"

"My dearest Claudia, conventionalities must be observed though the heavens fall. You owe this to yourself, to society, and even to the dead--for in his death he has atoned for much to you."

"I will wear them then," said Claudia.

And there the matter ended.

Meanwhile, the news of Lord Vincent's death had got about among the servants. Katie and Sally also had heard of it.

So that when Lady Vincent rang for her women to come and pack up her traveling trunk to go to Banff, Katie entered full of the subject.

"So my lordship has gone to his account, and all from takin' of an overdose of laudamy drops. How careful people ought to be when they meddles long o' dat sort o' truck. Well, laws! long as he's dead and gone I forgibs him for heavin' of me down to lib long o' de rats, and den sellin' ob me to de barbariums in de Stingy Isles. 'Deed does I forgibs him good too. and likewise de shamwally while I'se got my hand in at forgibness," she said.

"That's right, Katie. Never let your hatred follow a man to the grave," said Claudia.

"I wouldn't forgib 'em if dey wasn't dead, dough. 'Deed wouldn't I.

I tell you all good too. And if dey was to come back to life I would just take my forgibness back again. And it should all be just like it was before," said Katie, sharply defining her position.

Claudia sadly shook her head.

"That is a very questionable species of forgiveness, Katie," she said.

That afternoon the whole party, including the Countess of Hurstmonceux, who declared her intention of supporting Claudia through the approaching ordeal, left Cameron Court for Edinboro', where they took the six o'clock train for Banff, where they arrived at ten the same evening.

They went to the "Highlander," where they engaged comfortable apartments and settled themselves for a few days.

CHAPTER XLIX.

THE FATE OF FAUSTINA.

Oh, what a fate is guilt! How wild, how wretched!

When apprehension can form naught but fears.

--_Howard_.

Early the next morning Ishmael went over to the prison to see the governor relative to the removal of the body of the unhappy Vincent.

But he was told that the old Earl of Hurstmonceux had arrived at noon on the previous day and had claimed the body of his son and had it removed from the prison in a close hearse at the dead of night, to escape the observation of the mob, and conveyed to Castle Cragg, where, without any funeral pomp, it would be quietly deposited in the family vault.

With this intelligence Ishmael came back to Judge Merlin.

"That is well! That is a great relief to my mind, Ishmael," said the judge, and he went to convey the news to Lady Vincent and the countess.

At nine o'clock Katie, Sally, and Jim, who were all witnesses for the prosecution in the approaching trial of Faustina Dugald, were dispatched to the courthouse, under the escort of the professor.

At half-past nine Judge Merlin, Ishmael Worth, Lady Vincent, and the Countess of Hurstmonceux entered a close carriage and drove to the same place.

What a crowd!

It is not every day that a woman of high rank stands at the bar of a criminal court to answer to a charge of felony. And Faustina was a woman of high rank, at least by marriage. She was the Honorable Mrs.

Dugald; and she was about to be arraigned upon several charges, the lightest one of which, if proved, would consign her to penal servitude for years.

The world had got wind of this trial, and hence the great crowd that blocked up every approach to the courthouse.

Two policemen had to clear a way for the carriage containing the witnesses for the prosecution to draw up. And when it stopped and its party alighted, the same two policemen had to walk before them to open a path for their entrance into the courthouse.

Here every lobby, staircase, passage, and anteroom was full of curious people, pressed against each other. These people could not get into the courtroom, which was already crowded as full as it could be packed; nor could they see or hear anything from where they stood; and yet they persisted in standing there, crowding each other nearly to death, and stretching their necks and straining their eyes and ears after sensational sights and sounds.

Through this consolidated mass of human beings the policemen found great difficulty in forcing a passage for the witnesses. But at length they succeeded, and ushered the party into the courtroom, and seated them upon the bench appointed to the use of the witnesses for the prosecution.

The courtroom was even more densely packed than the approaches to it had been. It was scarcely possible to breathe the air laden with the breath of so many human beings. But for the inconvenience of the great crowd and the fetid air, this was an interesting place to pass a few hours in.

The Lord Chief Baron, Sir Archibald Alexander, presided on the bench. He was supported on the right and left by Justices Knox and Blair. Some of the most distinguished advocates of the Scottish bar were present.

The prisoner had not yet been brought into court. A few minutes passed, however, and then, by the commotion near the door and by the turning simultaneously of hundreds of heads in one direction, it was discovered that she was approaching in custody of the proper officers. Room was readily made for her by the crowd dividing right and left and pressing back upon itself, like the waves of the Red Sea, when the Israelites passed over it dryshod. And she was led up between two bailiffs and placed in the dock. Then for the first time the crowd got a good view of her, for the dock was raised some three or four feet above the level of the floor.

She was well dressed for the occasion, for if there was one thing this woman understood better than another, it was the science of the toilet. She wore a dark-brown silk dress and a dark-brown velvet bonnet, and a Russian sable cloak, and cuffs, and muff, and her face was shaded by a delicate black lace veil.

Mrs. MacDonald, who had followed her into the court, was allowed to sit beside her; a privilege that the lady availed herself of, at some considerable damage to her own personal dignity; for at least one-half of the strangers in the room, judging from her position beside the criminal, mistook her for an accomplice in the crime.

After the usual preliminary forms had been observed, the prisoner was duly arraigned at the bar.

When asked by the clerk of arraignments whether she were guilty or not guilty, she answered vehemently:

"I am not guilty of anything at all; no, not I! I never did conspire against any lady! My Lord Viscount Vincent and his valet Frisbie did that! And I never did abduct and sell into slavery any negro persons! My Lord Vincent and his valet did that also! It was all the doings of my lord and his valet, as you may know, since the valet has been guillotined and my lord has suffocated himself with charcoal! And it is a great infamy to persecute a poor little woman for what gross big men did! And I tell you, messieurs--"

"That will do! This is no time for making your defense, but only for entering your plea," said the clerk, cutting short her oration.

She threw herself into a chair and burst into tears, and sobbed aloud while the Queen's Solicitor, Counselor Birnie, got up to open the indictment setting forth the charges upon which the prisoner at the bar had been arraigned.

At the end of the opening speech he proceeded to call the witnesses, and the first called to the stand was:

"Claudia Dugald, Viscountess Vincent."

Judge Merlin arose and led his daughter to the stand, and then retired.

Claudia threw aside her deep mourning veil, revealing her beautiful pale face, at the sight of which a murmur of admiration ran through the crowded courtroom.

The oath was duly administered, Claudia following the words of the formula, in a low, but clear and firm voice.