Wiltshire. Certainly not. What woman on earth is expected to reveal her own shame upon oath? 'T was not fair nor human to put such questions. Come, madam, leave torturing this poor creature. Show some mercy; you may need it yourself.
Prisoner. Sir, 'tis not mercy I ask, but justice according to law. But since you do me the honor to make me a request, I will comply, and ask her but one question more. Describe my apartment into which you showed Thomas Leicester that night. Begin at the outer door.
Ryder. First there is the anteroom; then the boudoir; then there's your bedchamber.
Prisoner. Into which of those three did you show Thomas Leicester?
Ryder. Into the anteroom.
Prisoner. Then why did you say it was in my chamber I entertained him?
Ryder. Madam, I meant no more than that it was your private apartment up stairs.
Prisoner. You contrived to make the gentlemen think otherwise.
Judge. That you did. 'T is down in my notes that she received the pedler in her bedchamber.
Ryder (sobbing). God is my witness I did not mean to mislead your lordship: and I ask my lady's pardon for not being more exact in that particular.
At this the prisoner bowed to the judge, and sat down with one victorious flash of her gray eye at the witness, who was in an abject condition of fear, and hung all about the witness-box limp as a wet towel.
Sergeant Wiltshire saw she was so thoroughly cowed she would be apt to truckle, and soften her evidence to propitiate the prisoner; so he asked her but one question.
"Were you and the prisoner on good terms?"
Ryder. On the best of terms. She was always a good and liberal mistress to me.
Wiltshire. I will not prolong your sufferings. You may go down.
Judge. But you will not leave the court till this trial is ended. I have grave doubts whether I ought not to commit you.
Unfortunately for the prisoner, Ryder was not the last witness for the crown. The others that followed were so manifestly honest that it would have been impolitic to handle them severely. The prisoner, therefore, put very few questions to them; and, when the last witness went down, the case looked very formidable.
The evidence for the crown being now complete, the judge retired for some refreshment; and the court buzzed like a hum of bees. Mrs. Gaunt's lips and throat were parched and her heart quaked.
A woman of quite the lower order thrust forth a great arm and gave her an orange. Mrs. Gaunt thanked her sweetly; and the juice relieved her throat.
Also this bit of sympathy was of good omen, and did her heart good.
She buried her face in her hands, and collected all her powers for the undertaking before her. She had noted down the exact order of her topics, but no more.
The judge returned; the crier demanded silence; and the prisoner rose, and turned her eyes modestly but steadily upon those who held her life in their hands: and, true to the wisdom of her sex, the first thing she aimed at was—to please.
"My lord, and you gentlemen of the jury, I am now to reply to a charge of murder, founded on a little testimony, and a good deal of false, but, I must needs say, reasonable conjecture.
"I am innocent; but, unlike other innocent persons who have stood here before me, I have no man to complain of.
"The magistrates who committed me proceeded with due caution and humanity; they weighed my hitherto unspotted reputation, and were in no hurry to prejudge me; here, in this court, I have met with much forbearance; the learned counsel for the crown has made me
