“There is nothing ‘of course,’ Mr. Yorke, in this matter,” answered the lawyer, gravely.  “Are you quite sure?”

“Quite.  She has always had an account there; though to no such amount as two thousand pounds.”

“It is a large sum,” muttered the lawyer, thoughtfully, “but still they have not lost one penny of it.  In case things went against you, Mr. Yorke, would an appeal to the prosecutor be likely to be of service?”

“Certainly not,” answered Richard, hastily.  “I would not accept mercy at his hands; besides, it is not a question of mercy.”

“It may come to that,” observed the other, gravely.  “We must not deceive ourselves, Mr. Yorke.”

“Good Heavens! do you believe, then, that I took this money with intent to steal it?”

“What my belief is is of no consequence, one way or the other; but my opinion is that the jury will take that view, if they hear your story as you tell it.  The fact is, you have left out the most important incident of all:  the whole case will hinge upon the young lady’s having given you these notes with her own hand.  It is evident, of course, that she sympathized with you in your scheme,” pursued the lawyer, rapidly, and holding up his finger to forbid the protest that was already rising to Richard’s lip:  “nothing could be more natural, though most imprudent and ill judged, than her behavior.  She had no more idea of stealing the money than you had; how should she, since it was in a manner her own, she being her father’s sole heiress.  You and I see that clearly enough, but to a jury used to mere matters of fact, motive has little significance unless put into action.  What we want, and what we must have, is evidence that you got these notes, not only for this girl’s sake, but from her fingers.  Nobody can hurt her, you know.  Trevethick could never prosecute his own daughter; indeed, the whole affair dwindles down to a lover’s stratagem, and there is no need for prosecuting any body, if we can only put Harry Trevethick into the witness-box.  Now can we, Mr. Yorke, or can we not? that’s the question.”

Richard was silent; the lawyer’s argument struck him with its full force.  He had no scruples on the matter for his own part, but he feared that Harry might entertain them—­they would be only too much in keeping with her credulous and superstitious nature.

“If I could talk to her alone for five minutes,” muttered Richard, uneasily.

“That is impossible,” said Mr. Weasel, with decision.  “We can only play with such cards as we hold.  I could go to Gethin myself, though it would be most inconvenient at this busy time, and refresh this young woman’s memory; but it is a delicate task, and would be looked upon by the other side with some suspicion.  Now, is there no judicious friend that can be thoroughly depended upon—­a female friend, if possible, since the affair may require tact and sympathy—­to effect this little negotiation?  Think, my good Sir, think.”