husbands who had promised to love and cherish them until death.

It was a bright May morning, and the sun did his best to pour through
the dusky windows of the police court; a faint beam fell on the stolid
faces of the policemen and ushers of the court, the witnesses and the
lookers-on; a faint beam that yet, perhaps, brought many messages of
bright promise to those present.

A little boy had been sent on an errand with sixpence and had stolen the
money; with many sobs and tears he confessed that he had spent it in
cakes. Mr. Kent looked at the tear-stained face; the untidy brown head
scarcely reached to the table, and the good magistrate thought, with
something like pain at his heart, of a fair-haired boy at home. So he
spoke kindly to the poor, trembling prisoner, and while he strongly
reprimanded, still encouraged him to better ways. The boy was removed,
and then Mr. Kent was puzzled by the prisoner who took his place.

A tall, handsome young man, apparently not more than twenty, with a
clear-cut aristocratic face, and luminous dark gray eyes. A face that no
one could look into without admiration--that irresistibly attracted man,
woman and child. He was a gentleman--there could be no mistake about it.
That clear-cut Norman face had descended to him from a long line of
ancestors; the well-built, manly figure, with its peculiar easy grace
and dignity told of ancient lineage and noble birth.

His hands were white, slender and strong, with almond-shaped
nails--hands that had never been soiled with labor, and surely never
stained with crime.

He carried his handsome head high; it was proudly set on a firm,