Counsel suggested that it was never intended by those who placed the coins where they were found that they should remain there till the end of time; they were intended, said he, to be taken away by somebody, but by whom was not indicated by the depositors, and as no time or person was mentioned, they must belong to the first finder.  It was all a mere chance as to the time of their resurrection.  Further, it was certain they were not intended to be taken by their owners who had placed them there—­they never expected to see them again—­but by any one who happened to come upon them.  Those who deposited them where they were found parted not only with the possession, but with all claims of ownership.  Nor could any one representing him make any claim.

All this was excellent reasoning as far as it went, and the only thing the prosecution alleged by way of answer was that they were intended to be brought to light as antiquities.

“Very well,” said the prisoner’s counsel; “then there is no felonious intent in that case—­it is merely a mistake.  Antiquity came too soon.”

And so did the conviction.

I was instructed, with the Hon. George Denman, son of my old friend, whom I have so often mentioned, to defend three persons at the Maidstone Assizes for a cruel murder.  Mr. Justice Wightman was the Judge, and there was not a better Judge of evidence than he, or of law either.

The prisoners were father, mother, and son, and the deceased was a poor servant girl who had been engaged to be married to another son of the male prisoner and his wife.

The unfortunate girl had left her service at Gravesend, and gone to this family on a visit.  The prisoners, there could be no doubt, were open to the gravest suspicion, but how far each was concerned with the actual murder was uncertain, and possibly could never be proved.

The night before the trial the attorney who acted for the accused persons called on me, and asked this extraordinary question,—­

“Could you secure the acquittal of the father and the son if the woman will plead guilty?”

It is impossible to conceive the amount of resolution and self-sacrifice involved in this attempt to save the life of her husband and son.  It was too startling a proposal to listen to.  I could advise no client to plead guilty to wilful murder.  It was so extraordinary a proposition, look at it from whatever point I might, that it was perfectly impossible to advise such a course.  I asked him if the woman knew what she was doing, and that if she pleaded guilty certain death would follow.

“Oh yes,” said he; “she is quite prepared.”

“The murder,” I said, “is one of the worst that can be conceived—­cruel and fiendish.”

He agreed, but persisted that she was perfectly willing to sacrifice her own life if her husband and son could be saved.

This woman, so full of feeling for her own family, had thought so little of that of others that she had held down the poor servant girl in bed while her son strangled her.