She walked in calmly.  Wharton was standing on the rug, talking; Mrs.
Boyce was listening to what he had to say with the light repellent air
Marcella knew so well.

When she came in Wharton stepped forward ceremoniously to shake hands, then began to speak at once, with the manner of one who is on a business errand and has no time to waste.

“I thought it best, Miss Boyce, as I had unexpectedly a couple of spare hours this evening, to come and let you know how things were going.  You understand that the case comes on at the assizes next Thursday?”

Marcella assented.  She had seated herself on the old sofa beside the fire, her ungloved hands on her knee.  Something in her aspect made Wharton’s eyes waver an instant as he looked down upon her—­but it was the only sign.

“I should like to warn you,” he said gravely, “that I entertain no hope whatever of getting James Hurd off.  I shall do my best, but the verdict will certainly be murder; and the judge, I think, is sure to take a severe view.  We may get a recommendation to mercy, though I believe it to be extremely unlikely.  But if so, the influence of the judge, according to what I hear, will probably be against us.  The prosecution have got together extremely strong evidence—­as to Hurd’s long connection with the gang, in spite of the Raeburns’ kindness—­as to his repeated threats that he would ‘do for’ Westall if he and his friends were interrupted—­and so on.  His own story is wholly uncorroborated; and Dynes’s deposition, so far as it goes, is all against it.”

He went on to elaborate these points with great clearness of exposition and at some length; then he paused.

“This being so,” he resumed, “the question is, what can be done?  There must be a petition.  Amongst my own party I shall be, of course, able to do something, but we must have men of all sides.  Without some at least of the leading Conservatives, we shall fare badly.  In one word—­do you imagine that you can induce Mr. Raeburn and Lord Maxwell to sign?”

Mrs. Boyce watched him keenly.  Marcella sat in frozen paleness.

“I will try,” she said at last, with deliberation.

“Then”—­he took up his gloves—­“there may be a chance for us.  If you cannot succeed, no one else can.  But if Lord Maxwell and Mr. Raeburn can be secured, others will easily follow.  Their names—­especially under all the circumstances—­will carry a peculiar weight.  I may say everything, in the first instance—­the weight, the first effect of the petition—­depends on them.  Well, then, I leave it in your hands.  No time should be lost after the sentence.  As to the grounds of our plea, I shall, of course, lay them down in court to the best of my ability.”

“I shall be there,” she interrupted.

He started.  So did Mrs. Boyce, but characteristically she made no comment.

“Well, then,” he resumed after a pause, “I need say no more for the present.  How is the wife?”