The sight of his witnesses was almost welcome.  They were a dissenting minister, and a neat, portly, respectable widow, the owner of a fancy shop, and both knew Mr. Mauleverer as a popular lecturer upon philanthropical subjects, who came periodically to Bristol, and made himself very acceptable.  Their faith in him was genuine, and he had even interested them in the F. U. E. E. and the ladies that patronized it.  The widow was tearfully indignant about the persecution that had been got up against him, and evidently intended to return with him in triumph, and endow him with the fancy shop if he would condescend so far.  The minister too, spoke highly of his gifts and graces, but neither of them could carry back their testimony to his character for more than three years.

Mr. Grey looked at his watch, Harry Beauchamp was restless, and Alison felt almost faint with suspense; but at last the tramp of feet was heard in the passage.  Colonel Keith came first, and leaning over Alison’s chair, said, “Lady Temple will wait for me at the inn.  It will soon be all right.”

At that moment a tall figure in mourning entered, attended by a policeman.  For the first time, Mauleverer’s coolness gave way, though not his readiness, and, turning to Mr. Grey, he exclaimed, “Sir, you do not intend to be misled by the malignity of a person of this description.”

“Worse than a murderess!” gasped the scandalized widow Dench.  “Well, I never!”

Mr. Grey was obliged to be peremptory, in order to obtain silence, and enforce that, let the new witness be what she might, her evidence must be heard.

She had come in with the habitual village curtsey to Mr. Beauchamp, and putting back her veil, disclosed to Alison the piteous sight of the well-remembered features, once so bright with intelligence and innocence, and now sunk and haggard with the worst sorrows of womanhood.  Her large glittering eyes did not seem to recognise Alison, but they glared upon Mauleverer with a strange terrible fixedness, as if unable to see any one else.  To Alison the sight was inexpressibly painful, and she shrank back, as it were, in dread of meeting the eyes once so responsive to her own.

Mr. Grey asked the woman the name of the person before her, and looking at him with the same fearful steadiness, she pronounced it to be Richard Maddox, though he had of late called himself Mauleverer.

The man quailed for a moment, then collecting himself, said, “I now understand the incredible ingratitude and malignity that have pointed out against me these hitherto unaccountable slanders.  It is a punishment for insufficient inquiry into character.  But you, sir, in common justice, will protect me from the aspersions of one who wishes to drag me down in her justly merited fall.”

“Sentenced for three years!  To take her examination!” muttered Mrs. Dench, and with some difficulty these exclamations were silenced, and Maria Hatherton called on for her evidence.