her at the boarding-house, for the sake of my own good name. Everyone was prying and questioning about her, so I gave her to the prisoner to take care of, believing that she was a good and honest woman."
"And where is this Mrs. Geldheraus now? Does she know you? Can she give any evidence as to your mental condition?"
"Alas!" said Prudence, weeping profusely, though even the prisoner at the bar wore an incredulous grin, "she has gone away to Paris. She was on the point of leaving London when my sister called on her."
The counsel for the prosecution looked triumphantly at the magistrate. The woman was an absolute Bedlamite. No mere liar would invent so lame, so preposterous a story.
"You may stand down," he said abruptly.
"Please may I say one word?" asked the distressed witness. She looked full at the magistrate. He was a soft-hearted man, and something in her pathetic, tear-stained face touched him.
"Well," he said, "what is it? You must be brief."
"Would you mind having my sister—the child—brought forward?"
