Our consultation the next day at Mr. Sharpe’s was a sad and hopeless one.  Nowhere did a gleam of cheerful light break in.  The case was overwhelmingly complete against the prisoner.  The vague suspicions we entertained pointed to a crime so monstrous, so incredible, that we felt it could not be so much as hinted at upon such, legally considered, slight grounds.  The prisoner was said to be an eloquent speaker, and I undertook to draw up the outline of a defence, impugning, with all the dialectic skill I was master of, the conclusiveness of the evidence for the crown.  To this, and a host of testimony to character which we proposed to call, rested our faint hopes of “a good deliverance!”

Business was over, and we were taking a glass of wine with Mr. Sharpe, when his chief clerk entered to say that Sergeant Edwards, an old soldier—­who had spoken to them some time before relative to a large claim which he asserted he had against Captain Everett, arising out of a legacy bequeathed to him in India, and the best mode of assuring its payment by an annuity, as proposed by the captain—­had now called to say that the terms were at last finally arranged, and that he wished to know when Mr. Sharpe would be at leisure to draw up the bond.  “He need not fear for his money!” exclaimed Sharpe tartly, “the captain will, I fear, be rich enough before another week has passed over our heads.  Tell him to call to-morrow evening; I will see him after I return from court.”  A few minutes afterwards, I and Mr. Kingston took our leave.

The Crown Court was thronged to suffocation on the following morning, and the excitement of the auditory appeared to be of the intensest kind.  Miss Carrington, closely veiled, sat beside her father on one of the side-benches.  A true bill against the prisoner had been found on the previous afternoon; and the trial, it had been arranged, to suit the convenience of counsel, should be first proceeded with.  The court was presided over by Mr. Justice Grose; and Mr. Gurney—­afterwards Mr. Baron Gurney—­with another gentleman appeared for the prosecution.  As soon as the judge had taken his seat, the prisoner was ordered to be brought in, and a hush of expectation pervaded the assembly.  In a few minutes he made his appearance in the dock.  His aspect—­calm, mournful, and full of patient resignation—­spoke strongly to the feelings of the audience, and a low murmur of sympathy ran through the court.  He bowed respectfully to the bench, and then his sad, proud eye wandered round the auditory, till it rested on the form of Lucy Carrington, who, overcome by sudden emotion, had hidden her weeping face in her father’s bosom.  Strong feeling, which he with difficulty mastered, shook his frame, and blanched to a still deeper pallor his fine intellectual countenance.  He slowly withdrew his gaze from the agitating spectacle, and his troubled glance meeting that of Mr. Sharpe, seemed to ask why proceedings, which could