Granville helped him on his arm into the judge's room amid profound
silence. All the court was deeply stirred. A few personal friends
hurried after him eagerly. Among them were the Warings, and Mrs.
Clifford, and Elma.

The judge staggered to a seat, and held Granville's hand long
and silently in his. Then his eye caught Elma's. He turned to her
gratefully. "Thank you, young lady," he said, in a very thick voice.
"You were extremely good. I forget your name. But you helped me
greatly."

There was such a pathetic ring in those significant words, "I
forget your name," that every eye about stood dimmed with moisture.
Remorse had clearly blotted out all else now from Sir Gilbert
Gildersleeve's powerful brain save the solitary memory of his great
wrong-doing.

"Something's upon his mind still," Elma cried, looking hard at
him. "He's dying! he's dying! But he wants to say something else
before he dies, I'm certain. ... Mr. Kelmscott, it's to you. Oh,
Cyril, stand back! Mother, leave them alone! I'm sure from his
eye he wants to say something to Mr. Kelmscott."

They all fell back reverently. They stood in the presence of death
and of a mighty sorrow. Sir Gilbert still held Granville's hand
fast bound in his own. "It'll kill her," he muttered. "It'll kill
her! I'm sure it'll kill her! She'll never get over the thought
that her father was--was the cause of Montague Nevitt's death. And
you'll never care to marry a girl of whom people will say, either
justly or unjustly, 'She's a murderers daughter'.... And that will