that I was your own father.”  Upon this the prisoner said, “Sir, as to your illness I am innocent.”  Susan Gunnell, who was present, interrupted her at this expression, and told her she was astonished to hear her say she was innocent, when they had the poison to produce against her that she had put into her father’s water gruel, and had preserved the paper she had thrown into the fire.  The father, whose love and tenderness for his daughter exceeded expression, could not bear to hear her thus accused; therefore, turning himself in his bed, cried out, “Oh that villain! that hath eat of the best, and drank of the best my house could afford, to take away my life and ruin my daughter!” Upon hearing this the daughter ran to the other side of the bed to him; upon which he added, “My dear, you must hate that man, you must hate the very ground he treads on.”  Struck with this, the prisoner said, “Dear sir, your kindness towards me is worse than swords to my heart.  I must down upon my knees and beg you not to curse me.”  Hear the father’s answer, a father then dying by poison given by her hand—­“I curse thee, my dear!  No, I bless you, and will pray to God to bless you, and to amend your life”; then added, “So do, my dear, go out of the room lest you should say anything to accuse yourself.”  Was ever such tenderness from a parent to a child!  She was prudent enough to follow his advice, and went out of the room without speaking.  His kindness was swords to her heart for near half an hour.  Going downstairs she met Betty Binfield, and, whilst she was thus affected, owned to her she had put some powder into her father’s gruel, and that Susan and she, for their honesty to their master, deserved half her fortune.

Gentlemen, not to tire you with the particulars of every day, upon Wednesday, in the afternoon, the father died.  Upon his death the prisoner, finding herself discovered, endeavoured to persuade the manservant to go off with her; but he was too honest to be tempted by a reward to assist her in going off, though she told him it would be L500 in his way.  That night she refused to go to bed.  Not out of grief for her father’s death, for you will be told by the maid who sat up with her that she never during the whole night showed the least sorrow, compassion, or remorse upon his account.  But in the middle of the night she proposed to get a post-chaise in order to go to London, and offered the maid twenty-five guineas to go with her.  “A post-chaise! and go to London!  God forbid, madam, I should do such a thing.”  The prisoner, finding the maid not proper for her purpose, immediately put a smile upon her face—­“I was only joking.”  Only joking!  Good God! would she now have it thought she was only joking?

Her father just dead by poison:  she suspected of having poisoned him; accused of being a parricide; and would she have it thought she was capable of joking?