her?  No, she secretly bribes a nurse to let her escape.  When the patient has been released in this doubtful manner, and is taken to Mr. Fairlie, does he recognise her?  Is he staggered for one instant in his belief of his niece’s death?  No.  Do the servants recognise her?  No.  Is she kept in the neighbourhood to assert her own identity, and to stand the test of further proceedings?  No, she is privately taken to London.  In the meantime you have recognised her also, but you are not a relative—­you are not even an old friend of the family.  The servants contradict you, and Mr. Fairlie contradicts Miss Halcombe, and the supposed Lady Glyde contradicts herself.  She declares she passed the night in London at a certain house.  Your own evidence shows that she has never been near that house, and your own admission is that her condition of mind prevents you from producing her anywhere to submit to investigation, and to speak for herself.  I pass over minor points of evidence on both sides to save time, and I ask you, if this case were to go now into a court of law—­to go before a jury, bound to take facts as they reasonably appear—­where are your proofs?”

I was obliged to wait and collect myself before I could answer him.  It was the first time the story of Laura and the story of Marian had been presented to me from a stranger’s point of view—­ the first time the terrible obstacles that lay across our path had been made to show themselves in their true character.

“There can be no doubt,” I said, “that the facts, as you have stated them, appear to tell against us, but——­”

“But you think those facts can be explained away,” interposed Mr. Kyrle.  “Let me tell you the result of my experience on that point.  When an English jury has to choose between a plain fact on the surface and a long explanation under the surface, it always takes the fact in preference to the explanation.  For example, Lady Glyde (I call the lady you represent by that name for argument’s sake) declares she has slept at a certain house, and it is proved that she has not slept at that house.  You explain this circumstance by entering into the state of her mind, and deducing from it a metaphysical conclusion.  I don’t say the conclusion is wrong—­I only say that the jury will take the fact of her contradicting herself in preference to any reason for the contradiction that you can offer.”

“But is it not possible,” I urged, “by dint of patience and exertion, to discover additional evidence?  Miss Halcombe and I have a few hundred pounds——­”

He looked at me with a half-suppressed pity, and shook his head.