so dearly point out the true criminal. I stall now proceed to call the witnesses for the crown."
There was a pause and a little bustle in the court, the waves of the human sea were agitated for a moment. The backers of the favourites, "Guilty" and "Gallows," felt they had made safe books. During this pause, a man pushed his way through the crowd, up to the spot where the prisoner's counsel was seated, and put a little dirty slip of paper into his hand. There was written on it only one word, a word of three letters. The counsel read it, and then tore the slip of paper into the smallest atoms it was possible to reduce it to, and threw the fragments on the floor at his feet; but a warm flush mounted to his face, hitherto so pale, and he prepared himself to watch the evidence.
Richard Marwood, who knew the strength of the evidence against him, and knew his powerlessness to controvert it, had listened to its recapitulation with the preoccupied air of a man whom the proceedings of the day in no way concerned. His abstracted manner had been noticed by the spectators, and much commented upon.
It was singular, but at this most important crisis it appeared as if his chief attention was attracted by Joseph Peters, for he kept his eyes intently fixed upon the corner where that individual stood. The eyes of the people, following the direction of Richard's eyes, saw nothing but a little group of officials leaning over a corner of the gallery.
The crowd did not see what Richard saw, namely, the fingers of Mr. Peters slowly shaping seven letters—two words—four letters in the first word, and three letters in the second. There lay before the prisoner a few sprigs of rue; he took them up one by one, and gathering them together info a little bouquet, placed them in his button-hole—the eyes of the multitude staring at him all the time.
Strange to say, this trifling action appeared to be so pleasing to Mr. Joseph Peters, that he danced, as involuntarily, the first steps of an extempore hornpipe, and being sharply called to order by the officials, relapsed into insignificance for the remainder of the trial.
Chapter IX.
"Mad, Gentlemen of the Jury."
The first witness called was Richard's mother. From one to another amidst the immense number of persons in that well-packed court-room there ran a murmur of compassion for that helpless woman with the white, anguish-worn face, and the
