“Indeed!  And when?”

“The next morning,” in a voice as if pronouncing her own doom, and with hands clinging tight to the front of the witness-box as though in anguish.

“Where?” said the counsel, like inexorable fate.

“I will save the gentlewoman from replying to that question, sir;” and a gentleman with long brown hair, in a rich white and gold uniform, rose from among the spectators.  “Perhaps I may be allowed to answer for her, when I say that it was at Portchester Castle, at five in the morning, that she saw Peregrine Oakshott slain by my hand, and thrown into the vault.”

There was a moment of breathless amazement in the court, and the judge was the first to speak.  “Very extraordinary, sir!  What is your name?”

“Charles Archfield,” said the clear resolute voice.

Then came a general movement and sensation, and Anne, still holding fast to the support, saw the newcomer start forward with a cry, “My father!” and with two or three bounds reach the side of Sir Philip, who had sunk back in his seat for a moment, but recovered himself as he felt his son’s arm round him.

There was a general buzz, and a cry of order, and in the silence thus produced the judge addressed the witness:—­

“Is what this gentleman says the truth?”

And on Anne’s reply, “Yes, my Lord,” spoken with the clear ring of anguish, the judge added—­

“Was the prisoner present?”

“No, my Lord; he had nothing to do with it.”

“Then, brother Cowper, do you wish to proceed with the case?”

Mr. Cowper replied in the negative, and the judge then made a brief summing-up, and the jury, without retiring, returned a verdict of ‘Not guilty.’

In the meantime Anne had been led like one blinded from the witness-box, and almost dropped into her uncle’s arms.  “Cheer up, cheer up, my child,” he said.  “You have done your part bravely, and after so upright a confession no one can deal hardly with the young man.  God will surely protect him.”

The acquittal had been followed by a few words from Baron Hatsel, congratulating the late prisoner on his deliverance through this gentleman’s generous confession.  Then there was a moment’s hesitation, ended by the sheriff asking Charles, who stood up by his old father, one arm supporting the trembling form, and the other hand clasped in the two aged ones, “Then, sir, do you surrender to take your trial?”

“Certainly, sir,” said Charles.  “I ought to have done so long ago, but in the first shock—­”

Mr. Harcourt here cautioned him not to say anything that could be used against him, adding in a low tone, much to Sir Philip’s relief, “It may be brought in manslaughter, sir.”

“He should be committed,” another authority said.  “Is there a Hampshire magistrate here to sign a warrant?”