“Then,” said Mr. Macfarlane. “he has pleaded guilty; he has made no defence, engaged no counsel.”

“The boy is mad! completely mad!” cried the lawyer.

“Hush!” said the barrister; “the judge is speaking.”

Mr. Forster stood in a most impatient mood, while the grave, clear voice of the judge sentenced the prisoner.  Then he turned to the barrister abruptly.

“I tell you,” he cried, “the boy is mad!  Steal a watch!  Why, he could buy one-half the watches in London if he liked.  I must see him.  Come this way.”

“No,” said Mr. Macfarlane, “he evidently does not wish to be known.  I shall not go near him.”

“If he got into trouble, why in the world did he not send for me or for some one else?” said the lawyer to himself.  “It must be a young man’s frolic, a wager, a bet.  He has spirit enough for anything.  He never could have been such a mad fool as to wreck his life for a paltry watch.”

Mr. Forster went to the room, where with other prisoners, John Smith stood, awaiting his removal in the prison van.  He went up to him and touched him on the shoulder.

“Is it really you?” he cried, and the luminous gray eyes smiled into his.

“Ah!  Forster, I am sorry to see you.  What has brought you here?”

“It is you,” said the lawyer.  “I was in hopes that my senses deceived me.”

“I hope you will keep the fact of having seen me here a profound secret.”

“But in the name of heaven, what does it mean?” cried Mr. Forster.  “You know you have not attempted to steal a watch.  Pardon me, but how dare you plead guilty?  You will cover yourself with disgrace and infamy.  You will break your mother’s heart.  You will be utterly ruined for life.”

“My dear Forster, no one knows of my being here, and no one need know except yourself.”

“You are mistaken; you have been recognized.  I was sent for to identify you.”

Then the proud face did grow pale, but the proud light did not die out of the gray eyes.

“I am sorry for it, but I cannot help it.  I must ‘dree my weird.’”

Mr. Forster stood looking at him like one stupefied.

“If the sun had fallen from the heavens,” he said, “it would not have surprised me more.  Surely, surely you are going to trust me and tell me what this means?”

“I cannot.  Go on with everything just the same.  Tell my mother I have gone abroad for six months, and if you value my name, keep my secret from spreading, if you can.”

And then a rough voice called John Smith to the prison van.

CHAPTER III.

The Papers Again.

Mr. Foster went home in a terrible rage.  His clerks could not imagine what had happened.  He looked pale, worried, anxious and miserable.  “I should not think,” he said to himself, “that such a thing ever happened in the world before.”  His clients thought him bad tempered; he had the air of a man with whom everything had gone wrong—­out of sorts with all the world.