It was Mr. Smoothbore who could now best afford to praise the innocence and candor of the unhappy Harry.  Was it not evident that that tender creature had been tampered with, and almost persuaded to perjure herself, for the sake of the prisoner at the bar—­almost, but, happily for the ends of justice, not quite persuaded!  Her natural love of right had conquered the ignoble passion with which she had been inspired by this unscrupulous man.  What words could sufficiently paint the baseness of the conduct of the accused!  Was it not clear that he had endeavored to escape scot-free, at the sacrifice of this poor girl’s good name? She, forsooth, was to proclaim herself thief, to save his worthless self!  It was not for Mr. Smoothbore—­Heaven forbid!—­to exaggerate such wickedness, but was it possible that the phrase, “Young in years, but old in vice,” had ever had a more appropriate application than in the present case!  For the credit of human nature, he trusted not.  The point upon which his learned friend had mainly relied having been thus proved wholly untenable—­the fact of Richard’s taking the money having been incontestably brought home to him—­it only remained for him (Mr. Smoothbore) to notice what had been said with respect to motive.  If the prisoner at the bar had even had the intention, which had been so gratuitously imputed to him, of returning this money to the prosecutor, when once the object of his supposed scheme had been effected, he would be no less guilty of the crime that was laid to his charge.  It was possible, indeed, in such a case, that there might be extenuating circumstances, but those would not affect the verdict of the jury, however they might influence his lordship’s sentence after that verdict had been truly given.  And this he would say, after what had just occurred in that court—­after the painful scene they had just witnessed—­the breaking down of that innocent girl in an act of self-sacrifice, culpable in itself, but infinitely more culpable in him who had incited her to do it—­for he could not for an instant suppose that the prisoner’s legal advisers could have suggested such a line of defense:  taking all this into consideration, he, Mr. Smoothbore, would confidently ask the jury whether the prisoner at the bar was to be credited with merely a romantic stratagem, or with a crime the heinousness of which was only exceeded by the means by which he had striven to exculpate himself from it, and to evade the ends of justice.

When Mr. Smoothbore had thus concluded a lengthened and impassioned harangue, he sat down, wiping his hands upon his handkerchief, as though implying that he had washed them of the prisoner for good and all, and that a very dirty job it had been; while the judge rose and left the court, it being the hour appointed to his system, by nature, for the reception of lunch.

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE SENTENCE.