after his mother, had begun to suspect the truth; and we may say that he was the last within all that household who did so. During the last week every servant at The Cleeve had whispered to her fellow-servant that Lady Mason had forged the will.
'I shall be near you, mother,' said Peregrine as he put his hand into the carriage; 'remember that. The judge and the other fellows will go out in the middle of the day to get a glass of wine: I'll have something for both of you near the court.'
Poor Mrs. Orme as she pressed her son's hand felt much relieved by the assurance. It was not that she feared anything, but she was going to a place that was absolutely new to her,—to a place in which the eyes of many would be fixed on her,—to a place in which the eyes of all would be fixed on the companion with whom she would be joined. Her heart almost sank within her as the carriage drove away. She would be alone till she reached Orley Farm, and there she would take up not only Lady Mason, but Mr. Aram also. How would it be with them in that small carriage while Mr. Aram was sitting opposite to them? Mrs. Orme by no means regretted this act of kindness which she was doing, but she began to feel that the task was not a light one. As to Mr. Aram's presence in the carriage, she need have been under no uneasiness. He understood very well when his presence was desirable, and also when it was not desirable.
When she arrived at the door of Orley Farm house she found Mr. Aram waiting there to receive her. 'I am sorry to say,' said he, raising his hat, 'that Lady Mason's son is to accompany us.'
'She did not tell me,' said Mrs. Orme, not understanding why this should make him sorry.
'It was arranged between them last night, and it is very unfortunate. I cannot explain this to her; but perhaps———'
'Why is it unfortunate, sir?'
'Things will be said which—which—which would drive me mad if they were said about my mother.' And immediately there was a touch of sympathy between the high-bred lady and the Old Bailey Jew lawyer.
'Yes, yes,' said Mrs. Orme. 'It will be dreadful.'
'And then if they find her guilty! It may be so, you know. And how is he to sit there and hear the judge's charge;—and then the verdict, and the sentence. If he is there he cannot escape. I'll tell you what, Mrs. Orme; he should not be there at all.'
But what could she do? Had it been possible that she should be an hour alone with Lady Mason, she would have explained all this to her,—or if not all, would have explained much of it. But now, with no minutes to spare, how could she make this understood? 'But all that will not come to-day, will it, sir?'
'Not all,—not the charge or the verdict. But he should not be
