was being held. We met Sinfire outside: she looked brilliant and superb; but there was an expression about her mouth that troubled me,—a defiant curve which, at such a moment, was not auspicious.
A chair had been placed in the dock, in which she took her seat: she held her head up, and her bearing was indescribably vigorous and buoyant, as if she were brimming over with life and health. But no sign betrayed that she was even conscious that hundreds of eyes were scrutinizing her. They oppressed her not a whit. She was as self-poised as a princess.
Some preliminary formalities passed: then—
"What is your name?"
"Sinfire."
"And Christian name?"
"I have none."
The law started, and put up its spectacles. The people murmured aloud with a hundred voices. John caught his breath, and was about to start to his feet; but, with an immense effort, he sat back, and folded his arms, and set his teeth upon his lip. An intense stillness followed the first sensation.
"Will you explain your meaning?" said the interrogator, at length.
"My mother was a gypsy: she was never married: that is all," was the steady reply.
"Have your—your friends been made aware of these facts?"
"This is the first time I have mentioned them."
"And you bear no relationship to the Mainwaring family?"
"I have a claim upon them."
"Of what nature?"
"I decline to say."
Again the murmur and the stir. Sinfire looked at her examiner, and smiled. He turned and whispered something to those near him. Then he said,—
"You probably had some object in coming to them?"
"Yes, I had."
"What was it?"
"I wished to meet Mr. Henry Mainwaring."
"Mr. Henry Mainwaring? The gentleman who"
"Who has been murdered. Yes."
"What was your business with him?"
She paused a moment, and during that moment her eyes rested on John and me. Then she replied, "To return him a ring."
The lawyer had another whispered consultation, resulting in the question,—
