force with which she did not and could not parley, she made her way across the city to Fountain Park, and into the arms of Ruth Tracy, stretched out to receive her. The Mary and Martha of Holy Writ were not more concerned for the welfare of the persecuted Christ than were these two women for the safety of the man to whom each, in a way and to an extent unknown to the other, was supremely devoted. In the woman from Factory Hill it was the desire to be near him in his hour of trial that was paramount. She might, by some bare possibility, be able to serve him, to defend him, to refute his enemies. At least she would know, without a night of dreadful suspense, what fate had befallen him. Then Emberly came to summon her, and when she knew what was wanted she went with him gladly.
In the library there was a halt in the proceedings, and an awkward lull. The full and florid face of the bishop was flushed more deeply than usual. With the fingers of one hand he tapped nervously the engraved seal of the big episcopal ring that ornamented the other hand, and awaited in silence the advent of the witness. The expectant and apprehensive countenances of the men who faced him marked their own agitation of mind. The rector alone of all of them sat confident and unperturbed. The wide doors into the hall, having been opened, were not again closed. Then Emberly entered with Mary Bradley. All eyes were turned on the woman. She was not abashed, nor did she appear in any way to be ill at ease. Yet there had never in her life before been a moment when her nerves were more nearly at the breaking point.
"My good woman," said the bishop, "we are informed that the rector of Christ Church officiated at the burial of your deceased husband. Is this true?"
"It is true," she replied, "that he made a brief address at my husband's grave."
"At whose request?"
