the ill-used man.  To think of pardon, to mention pardon, would be an insult.  Instant justice, with infinite regrets that the injuries inflicted admitted of no compensation,—­that and that only, was impressively demanded.  How grossly would that man have been ill-used!—­how cruelly would that woman have been injured!  But then, again,—­if Bagwax was wrong;—­if the cunning fraud had been concocted over here and not in Sydney;—­if the plot had been made, not to incarcerate an innocent man, but to liberate a guilty man, then how unfit would he show himself for his position were he to be taken in by such guile!  What crime could be worse than that committed by Caldigate against the young lady he had betrayed, if Caldigate were guilty?  Upon the whole, he thought it would be safer to trust to the jury; but comforted himself by the reflection that he could for a while transfer the responsibility.  It would perhaps be expedient to transfer it altogether.  So he sent all the papers on to Judge Bramber.

Judge Bramber was a great man.  Never popular, he had been wise enough to disregard popularity.  He had forced himself into practice, in opposition to the attorneys, by industry and perspicuity.  He had attended exclusively to his profession, never having attempted to set his foot on the quicker stepping-stones of political life.  It was said of him that no one knew whether he called himself Liberal or Conservative At fifty-five he was put upon the bench, simply because he was supposed to possess a judicial mind.  Here he amply justified that opinion,—­but not without the sneer and ill-words of many.  He was now seventy, and it was declared that years had had no effect on him.  He was supposed to be absolutely merciless,—­as hard as a nether millstone, a judge who could put on the black cap without a feeling of inward disgust.  But it may be surmised that they who said so knew nothing of him,—­for he was a man not apt to betray the secrets of his inner life.  He was noted for his reverence for a jury, and for his silence on the bench.  The older he grew the shorter became his charges; nor were there wanting those who declared that his conduct in this respect was intended as a reproach to some who are desirous of adorning the bench by their eloquence.  To sit there listening to everything, and subordinating himself to others till his interposition was necessary, was his idea of a judge’s duty.  But when the law had declared itself, he was always strong in supporting the law.  A man condemned for murder ought to be hanged,—­so thought Judge Bramber,—­and not released, in accordance with the phantasy of philanthropists.  Such were the requirements of the law.  If the law were cruel, let the legislators look to that.  He was once heard to confess that the position of a judge who had condemned an innocent man might be hard to bear; but, he added, that a country would be unfortunate which did not possess judges capable of bearing even that sorrow.  In his heart he disapproved of the attribute of mercy as belonging to the Crown.  It was opposed to his idea of English law, and apt to do harm rather than good.