"Take me away from this place directly, you beast! How dare you bring me among such wretches?" screamed the poor creature.

"My lass, I hae na commission to remove you. I dinna ken what ye hae done to bring yoursel' here; but here ye maun bide till the morn,"

said Christie kindly and composedly.

"I will not, I say! What have I done to be placed among these vile wretches?" she persisted, stamping.

"I dinna ken, lassie, as I telled ye before; but joodging by your manners, I suld say ye hae guided yoursel' an unco' ill gait. But howe'er that will be, here ye maun bide till the morn. And gin ye will heed guid counsel, ye'll haud your tongue," said Christie, at the same time good-naturedly setting down the hamper that contained Faustina's luxuries. She did not want it. She threw herself down upon one of the benches and burst into a passion of tears.

The women gathered around the hamper, and quickly tore off the lid and made themselves acquainted with its contents.

But Faustina did not mind. She was too deeply distressed to care what they did. The contents of the hamper were now of no use to her.

The "good fire, the comfortable bed, the warm beverage" that she had vehemently demanded were unattainable, she knew, and she cared for nothing else now.

While Faustina, regardless that her famished fellow-prisoners were devouring her cakes, fruits, and wine, gave herself up to passionate lamentations, another scene was going on in the men's hall.

Lord Vincent sat gnawing his nails and "glowering" upon the floor in his corner. From time to time the door opened, letting in a gust of wind, sleet, and snow, and a new party of prisoners; but the viscount never lifted his eyes to observe them.

At length, however, he looked up and beckoned Constable McRae to his side.

"Here, you, fellow! I would like to see your warrant again. I wish to know who is my accuser."

"Judge Randolph Merlin, my lord, of the United States Supreme Court," answered McRae, once more taking out his warrant and submitting it to the inspection of his prisoner.

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the viscount affectedly. "Randolph Merlin! He has come to the country, I suppose, to look after his daughter; and finding that these negroes are among the missing, has pretended to get up this charge against me! It will not answer his purpose, however. And I only wonder that any magistrate in his senses should have issued a warrant for the apprehension of a nobleman upon his unsupported charge."

"Pray excuse me, my lord, but the charge was not unsupported," said McRae respectfully.

"How--not unsupported?"

"No, my lord. The judge had for witnesses the three negroes, and--"

"The three negroes!" exclaimed the viscount, recoiling in amazement; but quickly recovering his presence of mind, he added: "Oh! aye! of course! they ran off with my plate, and I suppose they have succeeded in effectually secreting it and eluding discovery. And now I suspect they have been looked up by their old master and persuaded to appear as false witnesses against me. Ha, ha, ha! what a weak device! I am amazed that any magistrate should have ventured upon such testimony to have issued a warrant for my apprehension."

"I beg your pardon, my lord; but theirs was not the only testimony.

There were several gentlemen present, fellow-voyagers of Judge Merlin, who testified to the finding of the negroes in a state of slavery in Cuba; their testimony corroborates that of the negroes,"

said McRae.

Lord Vincent went pale as death.

"What does that mean? Oh, I see! it is all a conspiracy," he said, with an ineffectual effort at derision.

But at that moment there was a bustle outside; the door was thrown open, and another prisoner was brought in by two policemen.

"What is the matter? Who is it now?" inquired McRae, going forward.

"We have got him, sir," said a constable.

"Who?" demanded McRae.

"The murderer, sir!" answered the policeman, at the same moment dragging into view the assassin of Ailsie Dunbar, the ex-valet of Lord Vincent, Alick Frisbie.

Heavily fettered, his knees knocking together, pale and trembling, the wretch stood in the middle of the floor.

"Where did you take him?" inquired McRae.

"At the 'Bagpipes,' Peterhead," replied the successful captor.

"Pray, upon what charge is he arrested?" inquired the viscount, in a shaking voice, that he tried in vain to make steady.

"A trifle of murder, among other fancy performances," said McRae.

At this moment Frisbie caught sight of his master and set up a howl, through which his words were barely audible:

"Oh, my lord, you will never betray me! You will never be a witness against me! You will never hang me! You promised that you would not!"

"Hold your tongue, you abominable fool! What the fiend are you talking about? Do you forget yourself, sir?" roared the viscount, furious at the fatal folly of his weak accomplice.

"Oh, no, my lord, I do not forget myself! I do not forget anything.

I beg your lordship's pardon for speaking, and I will swear to be as silent as the grave, if your lordship will only promise not to--"

"Will you stop short where you are, and not open your mouth again, you insufferable idiot!" thundered the viscount.

Frisbie gulped his last words, whined and crouched like a whipped hound, and subsided into silence.

And soon after this McRae and the other officers who were off duty for the remainder of the night went home and the doors were closed.

A miserable night it was to all within the station house, and especially to that guilty man and woman who had been torn from their luxurious home and confined in this dreary prison. All that could revolt, disgust, and utterly depress human nature seemed gathered within its walls. Here were drunkenness, deadly sickness, and reckless and shameless profanity, all of the most loathsome character. And all this was excruciating torture to a man like Lord Vincent, who, if he was not refined, was at least excessively fastidious. There was no rest; every few minutes the door was opened to receive some new prisoner, some inebriate, or some night-brawler picked up by the watch, and brought in, and then would ensue another scene of confusion.

An endless night it seemed, yet it came to an end at last, The morning slowly dawned. The pale, cold, gray light of the winter day looked sadly through the falling snow into the closely-grated, dusty windows. And upon what a scene it looked. Men were there, scattered over the floor and upon the benches in every stage of intoxication; some stupid, some reckless, some despairing; some sound asleep; some waking up and yawning, and some walking about impatiently.

As the day broadened and the hour arrived for the sitting of the police magistrate, the policemen came in and marched off the crowd of culprits to a hall in another part of the building, where they were to be examined. Even the women were marched out from the inner room after the men. It seemed that all the lighter offenders were to be disposed of first.

Lord Vincent and Frisbie were left alone in charge of one officer.

"When are we to be examined?" demanded the viscount haughtily of this man.

"I dinna ken," he answered, composedly lighting his pipe and smoking away.

Lord Vincent paced up and down the wet and dirty stone floor, until at length the door opened and McRae, the officer who arrested him, entered.

"Ah, you have come at last. I wish to be informed why we have been left here all this time? Everyone else has been removed," exclaimed the viscount.

"My lord, those poor creatures who were brought here during the night were not arrested for any grave offense. Some were brought in only to keep them from perishing in the snowstorm, and others for drunkenness or disorder. The sitting police magistrate disposes of them. They will mostly be discharged. But you, my lord, are here upon a heavy charge, and you are to go before Sir Alexander McKetchum."

"Why, then, do you not conduct me there? Do you mean to keep me in this beastly place all day?"

"My lord, your examination is fixed for ten o'clock; it is only nine now," said McRae, passing on to the inner room, from which he presently appeared with Faustina.

Wretched did the poor creature look with her pale and tear-stained face, her reddened eyes and disheveled hair; and her rich and elegant white evening dress with its ample skirts and lace flounces bedraggled and bedabbled with all the filth of the station house.