wasn't good enough. If she could not swear that Antony Prage, the man
she had brought into court, was the guilty person, then the case fell
to the ground.

My informant finished his story and I asked "Was that then the end--was
nothing more done about it?" "No, nothing." "Did not the judge say it
was a mean dirty trick arranged between the brothers and the lawyer?"
"No, he didn't--he non-suited her and that was all." "And did not
Antony Prage, or both of them, go into the witness box and swear that
they were innocent of the charge?" "No, they never opened their mouths
in court. When the judge told the young woman that she had failed to
establish her case, they walked out smiling, and their friends came
round them and they went off together." "And these brothers, I suppose,
still live among you at their farm and are regarded as good respectable
young men, and go to chapel on Sundays, and by-and-by will probably
marry nice respectable Methodist girls, and the girls' friends will
congratulate them on making such good matches."

"Oh, no doubt; one has been married some time and his wife has got a
baby; the other one will be married before long."

"And what do you think about it all?"

"I've told you what happened because the facts came out in court and
are known to everyone. What I think about it is what I think, and I've
no call to tell that."

"Oh, very well!" I said, vexed at his noncommittal attitude. Then I
looked at him, but his face revealed nothing; he was just the man with
a quiet manner and low voice who had put himself at my service and