Such, then, was Mr. Digby’s statement of the affair; and a very plausible and connected one, it must be allowed, it was.  It carried conviction to all present, and elicited from the presiding magistrate a high encomium on that person’s fidelity, ability, and promptitude.

The silver spoon, labelled as I had seen it, was now produced, when Mr. Wallscourt, who was also present, was called on to identify it.  This he at once did, after glancing at the crest and initials which were engraven on the handle.  The charge against me thus laid and substantiated, I was asked if I had anything to say in my own defence.

Defence! what defence could I make against an accusation so strongly put, and so amply supported by circumstances?  None.  I could meet it only by denial, and by assertions of innocence.  This, however, I did, and with such energy and earnestness—­for horror and despair inspired me with both courage and eloquence—­that a favourable impression was perceptible in the court.  The circumstantial statement of Digby, however, with all its strong probabilities, was not to be overturned by my bare assertions; and the result was, that I was remanded to prison to stand trial at the ensuing assizes, Mr. Wallscourt being bound over to prosecute.

Wretched, however, as my situation was, I had not been many hours in prison when I regained my composure; soothed by the reflection that, however disgraceful or unhappy my position might be, it was one in which I had not deserved being placed.  I was further supported by the conviction, which even the result of my late examination before the magistrate had not in the least weakened, that my innocence would yet appear, and that in sufficient time to save me from further legal prosecution.  Buoyed up by these reflections, I became, if not cheerful, at least comparatively easy in my mind.  I thought several times during my imprisonment of writing to my father,—­to whom, by the way, as I should have mentioned before, I wrote from Edinburgh, when on my way to London, in order to relieve the minds of my mother and himself from any apprehensions of anything more serious having happened me, telling them of my loss, and the way it had occurred, but without telling them that I had listed, or where I was going,—­I say I thought several times during my confinement of writing to my father, and informing him of the unhappy circumstances in which I was placed; but, on reflection, it occurred to me that such a proceeding would only give him and the rest of the family needless pain, seeing that he could be of no service to me whatever.  I therefore dropped the idea, thinking it better that they should know nothing about the matter—­nothing, at least, until my trial was over, and my innocence established; concomitant events, as I had no doubt they would prove.  In the meantime the day of trial approached.  It came, and I stood naked and defenceless; for I had no money to employ counsel, no friends to assist me with advice.  I stood at the bar of the Old Bailey shielded only by my innocence; a poor protection against evidence so strong and circumstantial as that which pointed to my guilt.