superstitious nor philosophic, but the jury would decide whether conscience and the sense of an awful secret were not sufficient to conjure up such phantoms, if they were not indeed spiritual, occurring as they did in the very places and at the very times when the spirit of the unhappy young man, thus summarily dismissed from the world, his corpse left in an unblessed den, would be most likely to reappear, haunting those who felt themselves to be most accountable for his lamentable and untimely end.

The words evidently told, and it was at a disadvantage that the prisoner rose to speak in his own defence and to call his witnesses.

“My lord,” he said, “and gentlemen of the jury, let me first say that I am deeply grieved and hurt that the name of my poor young wife has been brought into this matter.  In justice to her who is gone, I must begin by saying that though she was flattered and gratified by the polite manners that I was too clownish and awkward to emulate, and though I may have sometimes manifested ill-humour, yet I never for a moment took serious offence nor felt bound to defend her honour or my own.  If I showed displeasure it was because she was fatiguing herself against warning.  I can say with perfect truth, that when I left home on that unhappy morning, I bore no serious ill-will to any living creature.  I had no political purpose, and never dreamt of taking the life of any one.  I was a heedless youth of nineteen.  I shall be able to prove the commission of my wife’s on which this learned gentleman has thought fit to cast a doubt.  For the rest, Mistress Anne Woodford was my sister’s friend and playfellow from early childhood.  When I entered the castle court I saw her hurrying into the keep, pursued by Oakshott, whom I knew her to dread and dislike.  I naturally stepped between.  Angry words passed.  He challenged my right to interfere, and in a passion drew upon me.  Though I was the taller and stronger, I knew him to be proud of his skill in fencing, and perhaps I may therefore have pressed him the harder, and the dislike I acknowledge made me drive home my sword.  But I was free from all murderous intention up to that moment.  In my inexperience I had no doubt but that he was dead, and in a terror and confusion which I regret heartily, I threw him into the vault, and for the sake of my wife and mother bound Miss Woodford to secrecy.  I mounted my horse, and scarcely knowing what I did, rode till I found it ready to drop.  I asked for rest for it in the first wayside public-house I came to.  I lay down meanwhile among some bushes adjoining, and there waited till my horse could take me home again.  I believe it was at the White Horse, near Bishops Waltham, but the place has changed hands since that time, so that I can only prove my words, as you have heard, by the state of my horse when I came home.  For the condition of the remains in the vault I cannot account; I never touched the poor fellow after throwing him there.  My wife