CHAPTER XIX.

“Methinks, if, as I guess, the fault’s but small,It might be pardoned.”The Orphan.

“Methinks, if, as I guess, the fault’s but small,

It might be pardoned.”

The Orphan.

Perhaps no surer test of high principles, as it is certain no more accurate test of high breeding can be found, than a distaste for injurious gossip. In woman, subject as she is unquestionably by her education, habits, and active curiosity, to the influence of this vice, its existence is deplorable, leading to a thousand wrongs, among the chief of which is a false appreciation of ourselves; but, when men submit to so vile a propensity, they become contemptible, as well as wicked. As a result of long observation, we should say that those who are most obnoxious to the just condemnation of the world, are the most addicted to finding faults in others; and it is only the comparatively good, who are so because they are humble, that abstain from meddling and dealing in scandal.

When one reflects on the great amount of injustice that is thus inflicted, without even the most remote hope of reparation, how far a loose, ill-considered and ignorant remark will float on the tongues of the idle, how much unmerited misery is oftentimes entailed by such unweighed assertions and opinions, and how small is the return of benefit in any form whatever, it would almost appear a necessary moral consequence that the world, by general consent, would determine to eradicate so pernicious an evil, in the common interest of mankind. That it does not, isprobably owing to the power that is still left in the hands of the Father of Sin, by the Infinite Wisdom that has seen fit to place us in this condition of trial. The parent of all lies, gossip, is one of the most familiar of the means he employs to put his falsehoods in circulation.

This vice is heartless and dangerous when confined to its natural limits, the circles of society; but, when it invades the outer walks of life, and, most of all, when it gets mixed up with the administration of justice, it becomes a tyrant as ruthless and injurious in its way, as he who fiddled while Rome was in flames. We have no desire to exaggerate the evils of the state of society in which we live; but an honest regard to truth will, we think, induce every observant man to lament the manner in which this power, under the guise of popular opinion, penetrates into all the avenues of the courts, corrupting, perverting, and often destroying, the healthful action of their systems.

Biberry furnished a clear example of the truth of these remarks on the morning of the day on which Mary Monson was to be tried. The gaol-window had its crowd of course; and though the disposition of curtains, and other similar means of concealment, completely baffled vulgar curiosity, they could not cloak the resentful feelings to which this reserve gave birth. Most of those who were drawn thither belonged to a class who fancied it was not affliction enough to be accused of two of the highest crimes known to the laws; but that to this grievous misfortune should be added a submission to the stare of the multitude. It was the people’s laws the accused was supposed to have disregarded; and it was their privilege to anticipate punishment, by insult.

“Why don’t she show herself, and let the public look on her?” demanded one curious old man, whose head had whitened under a steadily increasing misconception of what the rights of this public were. “I’ve seen murderers afore now, and ain’t a bit afeard on ’em, if they be well ironed and look’d a’ter.”

This sally produced a heartless laugh; for, sooth to say, whereonefeels, under such circumstances, as reason, and justice, and revelation would tell them to feel, ten feel as the demons prompt.

“You cannot expect that a lady of fashion, who plays on the harp and talks French, will show her pretty face to be gazed at by common folk,” rejoined a shabby-genteel sort of personage, out of whose waistcoat-pocket obtruded the leaves of a small note-book, and the end of a gold pen. This man was a reporter, rendered malignant by meeting with opposition to his views of imagining that the universe was created to furnish paragraphs for newspapers. He was a half-educated European, who pronounced all his words in a sort of boarding-school dialect, as if abbreviation offended a taste ‘sicken’d over by learning.’

Another laugh succeeded this supercilious sneer; and three or four lads, half-grown and clamorous, called aloud the name of “Mary Monson,” demanding that she should show herself. At that moment the accused was on her knees, with Anna Updyke at her side, praying for that support which, as the crisis arrived, she found to be more and more necessary!

Changing from the scene to the open street, we find a pettifogger, one secretly prompted by Williams, spreading a report that had its origin no one knew where, but which was gradually finding its way to the ears of half the population of Duke’s, exciting prejudice and inflicting wrong.

“It’s the curi’stest story I ever heard,” said Sam Tongue, as the pettifogger was usually styled, though his real name was Hubbs; “and one so hard to believe, that, though I tell it, I call on no man to believe it. You see, gentlemen”—the little group around him was composed of suitors, witnesses, jurors, grand-jurors, and others of a stamp that usually mark these several classes of men—“that the account now is, that this Mary Monson was sent abroad for her schoolin’ when only ten years old; and that she staid in the old countries long enough to l’arn toplay the harp, and other deviltries of the same natur’. It’s a misfortin’, as I say, for any young woman to be sent out of Ameriky for an edication. Edication, as everybody knows, is the great glory ofourcountry; and a body would think that what can’t be l’arn’there, isn’t worth knowin’.”

This sentiment was well received, as would be any opinion that asserted American superiority, with that particular class of listeners. Eye turned to eye, nod answered nod, and a murmur expressive of approbation passed through the little crowd.

“But there was no great harm in that,” put in a person named Hicks, who was accustomed to connect consequences with their causes, and to trace causes down to their consequences. “Anybody might have been edicated in France as well as Mary Monson.Thatwill hardly tell ag’in her on the trial.”

“I didn’t say it would,” answered Sam Tongue; “though it’s gin’rally conceded that France is no country for religion or true freedom. Give me religion and freedom, say I; a body can get along with bad crops, or disapp’intments in gin’ral, so long as he has plenty of religion and plenty of freedom.”

Another murmur, another movement in the group, and other nods denoted the spirit in which this was received too.

“All this don’t make ag’in Mary Monson; ’specially as you say she was sent abroad so young. It wasn’t her fault if her parents——”

“She had no parents—there’s the great mystery of her case. Never had, so far as can be discovered. A gal without parents, without fri’nds of any sort, is edicated in a foreign land, l’arns to speak foreign tongues, plays on foreign music, and comes home a’ter she’s grown up, with her pockets as full as if she’d been to Californy and met a vein; and no one can tell where it all come from!”

“Well,thatwon’t tell ag’in her, ne’ther,” rejoined Hicks, who had now defended the accused so much that he began to take aninterest in her acquittal. “Evidence must be direct, and have a p’int, to tell ag’in man or woman. As for Californy, it’s made lawful by treaty, if Congress will only let it alone.”

“I know that as well as the best lawyer in Duke’s; butcharactercan tell ag’in an accused, as is very likely to be shown in the Oyer and Tarminer of this day. Character counts, let me tell you, when the facts get a little confused; and this is just what I was about to say. Mary Monson has money; where does it come from?”

“Those that think her guilty say that it comes from poor Mrs. Goodwin’s stockin’,” returned Hicks, with a laugh; “but, for my part, I’veseenthat stockin’, and am satisfied it didn’t hold five hundred dollars, if it did four.”

Here the reporter out with his notes, scribbling away for some time. That evening a paragraph, a little altered to give it point and interest, appeared in an evening paper, in which the conflicting statements of Tongue and Hicks were so presented, that neither of these worthies could have recognised his own child. That paper was in Biberry next morning, and had no inconsiderable influence, ultimately, on the fortunes of the accused.

In the bar-room of Mrs. Horton, the discussion was also lively and wily on this same subject. As this was a place much frequented by the jurors, the agents of Timms and Williams were very numerous in and around that house. The reader is not to suppose that these men admitted directly to themselves even, the true character of the rascally business in which they were engaged; for their employers were much too shrewd not to cover, to a certain degree, the deformity of their own acts. One set had been told that they were favouring justice, bringing down aristocratic pride to the level of the rights of the mass, demonstrating that this was a free country, by one of the very vilest procedures that ever polluted the fountains of justice at their very source. On the other hand, the agents of Timms had beenpersuaded that they were working in behalf of a persecuted and injured woman, who was pressed upon by the well-known avarice of the nephew of the Goodwins, and who was in danger of becoming the victim of a chain of extraordinary occurrences that had thrown her into the meshes of the law. It is true, this reasoning was backed by liberal gifts; which, however, were made to assume the aspect of compensation fairly earned; for the biggest villain going derives a certain degree of satisfaction in persuading himself that he is acting under the influence of motives to which he is, in truth, a stranger. The homage which vice pays to virtue is on a much more extended scale than is commonly supposed.

Williams’s men had much the best of it with the mass. They addressed themselves to prejudices as wide as the dominion of man; and a certain personal zeal was mingled with their cupidity. Then they had, by far, the easiest task. He who merely aids the evil principles of our nature, provided he conceal the cloven foot, is much more sure of finding willing listeners than he who looks for support in the good. A very unusual sort of story was circulated in this bar-room at the expense of the accused, and which carried with it more credit than common, in consequence of its being so much out of the beaten track of events as to seem to set invention at defiance.

Mary Monson was said to be an heiress, well connected, and well educated—or, as these three very material circumstances were stated by the Williams’ men—“well to do herself, of friends well to do, and of excellent schooling.” She had been married to a person of equal position in society, wealth and character, but many years her senior—too many, the story went, considering her own time of life; for a great difference, when one of the parties is youthful, is apt to tax the tastes too severely—and that connection had not proved happy. It had been formed abroad, and more on foreign than on American principles; the bridegroom being a Frenchman. It was what is called amariage de raison,made through the agency of friends and executors, rather than through the sympathies and feelings that should alone bring man and woman together in this, the closest union known to human beings. After a year of married life abroad, the unmatched couple had come to America, where the wife possessed a very ample fortune. This estate the recently enacted laws gave solely and absolutely to herself; and it soon became a source of dissension between man and wife. The husband, quite naturally, considered himself entitled to advise and direct, and, in some measure, to control, while the affluent, youthful, and pretty wife, was indisposed to yield any of the independence she so much prized, but which, in sooth, was asserted in the very teeth of one of the most salutary laws of nature. In consequence of this very different manner of viewing the marriage relation, a coolness ensued, which was shortly followed by the disappearance of the wife. This wife was Mary Monson, who had secreted herself in the retired dwelling of the Goodwins, while the hired agents of her husband were running up and down the land in search of the fugitive in places of resort. To this account, so strange, and yet in many respects so natural, it was added that a vein of occult madness existed in the lady’s family; and it was suggested that, as so much of her conduct as was out of the ordinary course might be traced to this malady, so was it also possible that the terrible incidents of the fire and the deaths were to be imputed to the same deep affliction.

We are far from saying that any rumour expressed in the terms we have used, was circulating in Mrs. Horton’s bar-room; but one that contained all their essentials was. It is one of the curious effects of the upward tendency of truth that almost every effort to conceal it altogether fails; and this at the very time when idle and heartless gossip is filling the world with lies. The tongue does a thousand times more evil than the sword; destroys more happiness, inflicts more incurable wounds, leaves deeperand more indelible scars. Truth is rarely met with unalloyed by falsehood.

“This or that unmix’d, no mortal e’er shall find”—

Was the judgment of Pope a century since; nor has all the boasted progress of these later times induced a change. It is remarkable that a country which seems honestly devoted to improvement of every sort, that has a feverish desire to take the lead in the warfare against all sorts and species of falsehood, gives not the slightest heed to the necessity of keeping the channels of intelligencepure, as well asopen! Such is the fact; and it is a melancholy but a just admission to acknowledge that with all the means of publicity preserved by America, there is no country in which it is more difficult to get unadulterated truth impressed on the common mind. The same wire that transmits a true account of the price of cotton from Halifax to New Orleans, carries a spark that imparts one that is false. The two arrive together; and it is not until each has done its work that the real fact is ascertained.

Notwithstanding these undoubted obstacles to the circulation of unalloyed truth, that upward tendency to which we have alluded occasionally brings out clear and strong rays of the divine quality, that illumine the moral darkness on which they shine, as the sun touches the verge of the thunder-cloud. It is in this way that an occasional report is heard, coming from no one knows where; originating with, no one knows whom; circulating in a sort of under-current beneath the torrents of falsehood, that is singularly, if it be not absolutely correct.

Of this character was the strange rumour that found its way into Biberry on the morning of Mary Monson’s trial, touching the history of that mysterious young woman’s past life. Wilmeter heard it, first, with a pang of disappointment, though Anna had nearly regained her power in his heart; and this pang was immediatelysucceeded by unbounded surprise. He told the tale to Millington; and together they endeavoured to trace the report to something like its source. All efforts of this nature were in vain. One had heard the story from another; but no one could say whence it came originally. The young men gave the pursuit up as useless, and proceeded together towards the room of Timms, where they knew Dunscomb was to be found, just at that time.

“It is remarkable that a story of this nature should be in such general circulation,” said John, “and no one be able to tell who brought it to Biberry. Parts of it seem extravagant. Do they not strike you so, sir?”

“There is nothing too extravagant for some women to do,” answered Millington, thoughtfully. “Now, on such a person as Sarah, or even on Anna Updyke, some calculations might be made—certain calculations, I might say; but, there are women, Jack, on whom one can no more depend, than on the constancy of the winds.”

“I admire your—‘even on Anna Updyke!’”

“Do you not agree with me?” returned the unobservant Millington. “I have always considered Sarah’s friend as a particularly reliable and safe sort ofperson.”person.”

“Even on Anna Updyke!—and a particularly reliable and safe sort of person!—You have thought this, Mike, because she is Sarah’s bosom friend!”

“Thatmayhave prejudiced me in her favour, I will allow; for I like most things that Sarah likes.”

John looked at his friend and future brother-in-law with an amused surprise; the idea of liking Anna Updyke on any account but her own, striking him as particularly absurd. But they were soon at Timms’s door, and the conversation dropped as a matter of course.

No one who has ever travelled much in the interior of America, can easily mistake the character of one of the small edifices,with the gable to the street, ornamented with what are erroneously termed Venitian blinds, painted white, and with an air of tobacco-smoke and the shabby-genteel about it, notwithstanding its architectural pretensions. This is a lawyer’s office, thus brought edgeways to the street, as if its owner felt the necessity of approaching the thoroughfare of the world a little less directly than the rest of mankind. It often happens that these buildings, small as they usually are, contain two, or even three rooms; and that the occupants, if single men, sleep in them as well as transact their business. Such was the case with Timms, his “office,” as the structure was termed, containing his bed-room, in addition to an inner and an outer apartment devoted to the purposes of the law. Dunscomb was in the sanctum, while a single clerk and three or four clients, countrymen of decent exterior and very expecting countenances, occupied the outer room. John and Millington went into the presence with little or no hesitation.

Wilmeter was not accustomed to much circumlocution; and he at once communicated the substance of the strange rumour that was in circulation, touching their interesting client. The uncle listened with intense attention, turning pale as the nephew proceeded. Instead of answering or making any comment, he sank upon a chair, leaned his hands on a table and his head on his hands, for fully a minute. All were struck with these signs of agitation; but no one dared to interfere. At length, this awkward pause came to a close, and Dunscomb raised his head, the face still pale and agitated. His eye immediately sought that of Millington.

“You had heard this story, Michael?” demanded the counsellor.

“I had, sir. John and I went together to try to trace it to some authority.”

“With what success?”

“None whatever. It is in every one’s mouth, but no one cansay whence it came. Most rumours have a clue, but this seems to have none.”

“Do you trace the connection which has struck—which hasoppressedme?”

“I do, sir, and was so struck the moment I heard the rumour; for the facts are in singular conformity with what you communicated to me some months since.”

“They are, indeed, and create a strong probability that there is more truth in this rumour than is commonly to be found in such reports. What has become of Timms?”

“On the ground, ’Squire,” answered that worthy from the outer room—“just despatching my clerk”—this word he pronounced ‘clurk’ instead of ‘clark,’ by way of showing he knew how to spell—“with a message to one of my men. He will find him, and be with us in a minute.”

In the mean time, Timms had a word to say to each client in succession; getting rid of them all by merely telling each man, in his turn, there was not the shadow of doubt that he would get the better of his opponent in the trial that was so near at hand. It may be said here, as a proof how much a legal prophet may be mistaken, Timms was subsequently beaten in each of these three suits, to the great disappointment of as many anxious husbandmen, each of whom fondly counted on success, from the oily promises he had received.

In a very few minutes the agent expected by Timms appeared in the office. He was plain-looking, rather rough and honest in appearance, with a most wily,villanousvillanousleer of the eye. His employer introduced him as Mr. Johnson.

“Well, Johnson, what news?” commenced Timms. “These are friends to Mary Monson, and you can speak out, always avoiding partic’lar partic’lars.”

Johnson leered, helped himself to a chew of tobacco with great deliberation, a trick he had when he needed a moment ofthought before he made his revelations; bowed respectfully to the great York lawyer; took a good look at each of the young men, as if to measure their means of doing good or harm; and then condescended to reply.

“Not very good,” was the answer. “That foreign instrument, which they say is just such an one as David used when he played before Saul, has done a good deal of harm. It won’t do, ’Squire Timms, to fiddle off an indictment for murder! Mankind gets engaged in such causes; and if they desire music on the trial, it’s the music of law and evidence that they want.”

“Have you heard any reports concerning Mary Monson’s past life?—if so, can you tell where they come from?”

Johnson knew perfectly well whence a portion of the rumours came; those which told in favour of the accused; but these he easily comprehended were not the reports to which Timms alluded.

“Biberry is full of all sorts of rumours,” returned Johnson, cautiously, “as it commonly is in court-time. Parties like to make the most of their causes.”

“You know my meaning—we have no time to lose; answer at once.”

“I suppose I do know what you mean, ’Squire Timms; and I have heard the report. In my judgment, the person who set it afloat is no friend of Mary Monson’s.”

“You think, then, it will do her damage?”

“To the extent of her neck. Eve, before she touched the apple, could not have been acquitted in the face of such a rumour. I look upon your client as a lost woman, ’SquireTimms.”Timms.”

“Does that seem to be the common sentiment—that is, so far as you can judge?”

“Among the jurors it does.”

“The jurors!” exclaimed Dunscomb—“what can you possibly know of the opinions of the jurors, Mr. Johnson?”

A cold smile passed over the man’s face, and he looked steadily at Timms, as if to catch a clue that might conduct him safely through the difficulties of his case. A frown that was plain enough to the agent, though admirably concealed from all others in the room, told him to be cautious.

“I only know what I see and hear. Jurors are men, and other men can sometimes get an insight into their feelings, without running counter to law. I heard the rumour related myself, in the presence of seven of the panel. It’s true, nothing was said of the murder, or the arson; but such a history of the previous life of the accused was given as Lady Washington couldn’t have stood up ag’in, had she been livin’, and on trial for her life.”

“Was anything said of insanity?” asked Dunscomb.

“Ah, that plea will do no good, now-a-days; it’s worn out. They’d hang a murderer from Bedlam. Insanity has been overdone, and can’t be depended on any longer.”

“Was anything said on the subject?” repeated the counsellor.

“Why, to own the truth, there was; but, as that toldforMary Monson, and notag’inher, it was not pressed.”

“You think, then, that the story has been circulated by persons in favour of the prosecution?”

“I know it. One of the other side said to me, not ten minutes ago—‘Johnson,’ said he—‘we are old friends’—he always speaks to me in that familiar way—‘Johnson,’ said he, ‘you’d a done better to have gi’n up. What’s five thousand dollars to the likes of her? and them you know is the figures.”

“This is a pretty exhibition of the manner of administering justice!” exclaimed the indignant Dunscomb. “Long as I have been at the bar, I had no conception that such practices prevailed. At all events, this illegality will give a fair occasion to demand a new trial.”

“Ay, the sharpest lawyer that ever crossed Harlem bridge can l’arn something in old Duke’s,” said Johnson, nodding“’Squire Timms will stand tothat. As for new trials, I only wonder the lawyers don’t get one each time they are beaten; for the law would bear them out.”

“I should like to know how, Master Johnson,” put in Timms. “That would be a secret worth knowing.”

“A five-dollar note will buy it.”

“There’s one of ten—now, tell me your secret.”

“Well, ’Squire, youbea gentleman, whatever folks may say and think of you. I’d rather do business with you, by one-half, than do business with Williams; notwithstanding he has such a name, up and down the country. Stick to it, and you’ll get the nomination to the Sinat’; and the nomination secured, you’re sure of the seat. Nomination is the government of Ameriky; and that’s secured by a wonderful few!”

“I believe you are more than half right, Johnson”—Here Dunscomb, his nephew, and Millington left the office, quite unnoticed by the two worthies, who had entered on a subject as engrossing as that of Timms’s elevation to the Senate. And, by the way, as this book is very likely to be introduced to the world, it may be well enough to explain that we have two sorts of “Senates” in this country; wheels within wheels. There is the Senate of each State, without an exception now, we believe; and there is the Senate of the United States; the last being, in every sense, much the most dignified and important body. It being unfortunately true, that “nominations” are the real people of America, unless in cases which arouse the nation, the State Senates very often contain members altogether unsuited to their trusts; men who have obtained their seats by party legerdemain; and who had much better, on their own account, as well as on that of the public, be at home attending to their own private affairs. This much may be freely said by any citizen, of a State Senate, a collection of political partisans that commands no particular respect; but, it is very different with that of the UnitedStates; and we shall confine ourselves to saying, in reference to that body, which it is the fashion of the times to reverence as the most illustrious political body on earth, that it is not quite as obnoxious to this judgment as the best of its sisterhood of the several States; though very far from being immaculate, or what with a little more honesty in political leaders, it might be.

“I believe you are half right, Johnson,” answered Timms—“Nominationisthe government in this country; liberty, people, and all! Let a man get a nomination on therightside, and he’s as good as elected. But, now for this mode of getting new trials, Johnson?”

“Why, ’Squire, I’m amazed a man of your experience should ask the question! The law is sharp enough in keeping jurors, and constables, and door-keepers in their places; but the jurors, and constables, and door-keepers, don’t like to be kept in their places; and there isn’t one cause in ten, if they be of any length, in which the jurors don’t stray, or the constables don’t get into the jury-rooms. You can’t pound free-born Americans like cattle!”

“I understand you, Johnson, and will take the hint. I knew there was a screw loose in this part of our jurisprudence, but did not think it as important as I now see it is. The fact is, Johnson, we have been telling the people so long that they are perfect, and every man that he, in his own person, is one of these people, that our citizens don’t like to submit to restraints that are disagreeable. Still, we are a law-abiding people, as every one says.”

“That may be so, ’Squire; but we are not jury-room-abiding, nor be the constables outside-of-the-door-abiding, take my word for it. As you say, sir, every man is beginning to think he is a part of the people, and a great part, too; and he soon gets the notion that he can do as he has a mind to do.”

“Where is Mr. Dunscomb?”

“He stepp’d out with the young gentlemen, a few moments since. I dare say, ’Squire Timms, he’s gone to engage men to talk down this rumour about Mary Monson. That job should have been mine, by rights!”

“Not he, Johnson—not he. Your grand lawyers don’t meddle with such matters; or, when they do, they pretend not to. No, he has gone to the gaol, and I must follow him.”

At the gaol was Dunscomb, sure enough. Mary Monson, Anna and Sarah, with Marie Moulin, all dressed for the court; the former with beautiful simplicity, but still more beautiful care; the three last plainly, but in attire well suited to their respective stations in life. There was a common air of concern and anxiety; though Mary Monson still maintained her self-command. Indeed, the quiet of her manner was truly wonderful, for the circumstances.

“Providence has placed me in a most trying situation,” she said; “but I see my course. Were I to shrink from this trial, evade it in any manner, a blot would rest on my name as long as I am remembered. It is indispensable that I should beacquitted. This, by God’s blessing on the innocent, must come to pass, and I may go forth and face my friends with a quiet mind.”

“These friends ought to be known,” answered Dunscomb, “and should be here to countenance you with their presence.”

“They!—He!—Never—while I live, never!”

“You see this young man, Mary Monson—I believe he is known to you, by name?”

Mary Monson turned her face towards Millington, smiled coldly, and seemed undisturbed.

“What is he to me?—Here is the woman of his heart;—let him turn toher, with all his care.”

“You understand me, Mary Monson—it is important that I should be assured ofthat.”

“Perhaps I do, Mr. Dunscomb, and perhaps I donot. You are enigmatical this morning; I cannot be certain.”

“In one short half-hour the bell of yonder court-house will ring, when you are to be tried for your life.”

The cheek of the accused blanched a little; but its colour soon returned, while her eye assumed a look even prouder than common.

“Let it come”—was her quiet answer—“the innocent need not tremble. These two pure beings have promised to accompany me to the place of trial, and to give metheircountenance. Why, then, should I hesitate?”

“I shall go, too”—said Millington, steadily, like one whose mind was made up.

“You!—Well, for the sake of this dear one, you may go, too.”

“For no other reason, Mary?”

“For no other reason, sir. I am aware of the interest you and Mr. Wilmeter have taken in my case; and I thank you both from the bottom of my heart. Ah! kindness was never lost on me——”

A flood of tears, for the first time since her imprisonment, so far as any one knew, burst from this extraordinary being; and, for a few minutes, she became woman in the fullest meaning of the term.

During this interval Dunscomb retired, perceiving that it was useless to urge anything on his client while weeping almost convulsively; and aware that he had several things to do before the court met. Besides, he left the place quite satisfied on an all-important point; and he and Millington walked by themselves towards the court-house, their heads close together, and their voices reduced nearly to whispers.

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