“I had some difficulty in finding a cab,” he explained, “and we had to get some brandy; but she came round, and we got her off.  I sent one of our men with her.  The carriage is here.”

He spoke—­to Marcella—­with some formality.  He was very pale, but there was both authority and tension in his bearing.

“I have been consulting with Miss Boyce,” said Wharton, with equal distance of manner, “as to the petition we are sending up to the Home Office.”

Aldous made no reply.

“One word, Miss Boyce,”—­Wharton quietly turned to her.  “May I ask you to read the petition carefully, before you attempt to do anything with it?  It lays stress on the only doubt that can reasonably be felt after the evidence, and after the judge’s summing up.  That particular doubt I hold to be entirely untouched by the trial; but it requires careful stating—­the issues may easily be confused.”

“Will you come?” said Aldous to Marcella.  What she chose to think the forced patience of his tone exasperated her.

“I will do everything I can,” she said in a low, distinct voice to Wharton.  “Good-bye.”

She held out her hand.  To both the moment was one of infinite meaning; to her, in her high spiritual excitement, a sacrament of pardon and gratitude—­expressed once for all—­by this touch—­in Aldous Raeburn’s presence.

The two men nodded to each other.  Wharton was already busy, putting his papers together.

“We shall meet next week, I suppose, in the House?” said Wharton, casually.  “Good-night.”

* * * * *

“Will you take me to the Court?” said Marcella to Aldous, directly the door of the carriage was shut upon them, and, amid a gaping crowd that almost filled the little market-place of Widrington, the horses moved off.  “I told mamma, that, if I did not come home, I should be with you, and that I should ask you to send me back from the Court to-night.”

She still held the packet Wharton had given her in her hand.  As though for air, she had thrown back the black gauze veil she had worn all through the trial, and, as they passed through the lights of the town, Aldous could see in her face the signs—­the plain, startling signs—­of the effect of these weeks upon her.  Pale, exhausted, yet showing in every movement the nervous excitement which was driving her on—­his heart sank as he looked at her—­foreseeing what was to come.

As soon as the main street had been left behind, he put his head out of the window, and gave the coachman, who had been told to go to Mellor, the new order.

“Will you mind if I don’t talk?” said Marcella, when he was again beside her.  “I think I am tired out, but I might rest now a little.  When we get to the Court, will you ask Miss Raeburn to let me have some food in her sitting-room?  Then, at nine o’clock or so, may I come down and see Lord Maxwell and you—­together?”