The counsel for the prisoner addressed the Judge.  “Your Honour, no watchman, dead or alive, being among the witnesses, and there being no capable proof of what were or were not my client’s thoughts upon the night in question, I indignantly protest—­”

The objection was sustained.  The interruption over, the attorney for the British Merchants went evenly on.  “We have Mr. Rand’s word for it that the prisoner had no thought of the watchman, and no intention of using, even in case of need, the weapons with which it has been proved he was provided.  Mr. Rand must know.  As a rule, gentlemen bearing arms about their persons may be considered the potential users of said arms, whether the antiquated rapier or the modern pistol—­but then, I bethink me, we are not speaking of men of honour.  We are speaking of a small criminal in a small way, and Mr. Rand assures us that his thoughts matched his estate—­they were humble, they were creeping.  Headstrong, proud, and bold are words too swelling for this low and narrow case.  To wear a weapon with intent to use is one thing, to buckle it on as a mere trivial, harmless, modish ornament and gewgaw is quite another!  We have Mr. Rand’s word for it that it was so worn.  Gentlemen, the prisoner, armed, indeed, as has been proved, was absolutely innocent of even the remotest intent to use under any provocation beneath high heaven the pistols—­oiled, primed, and duelling type—­with which, by chance or for the merest whim of ornament, he had decked his person upon this eventful night.  Mr. Rand tells us so, and doubtless he knows whereof he speaks.

“So armed and so harmless, gentlemen, the prisoner, having committed forgery, does now his second crime—­the pitiful robbery.  The key that he has forged with care is true to him, the gold lies at his mercy, underneath his hand; he lifts it up, the shining thing; he bears it away.  The hour has struck, the deed is done; irrevocable, it takes its place upon the inexpugnable record.  He has stolen, and there is no power in heaven or earth to change that little fact.  We are grown squeamish in these modern days, and no longer brand a thief with heated iron.  No letter will appear, seared on his shoulder or his hand, but is he less the thief for that?  He himself has done the branding, and Eternity cannot wear out the mark.  He goes.  With his stolen gold he steals away.  It is night.  There are only the stars to watch his flight, and he cares not for the stars—­they never tell.  Have they not, time out of mind, stood the friend of all gentlemen of the road?  He quits the house that has seen his crime; he leaves dull and honest men asleep; he bestows no parting glance upon the dim, familiar ways.  His native land is naught—­he’s for green fields and pastures new—­he’s for Tom and Dick and Harry, and all their goodly company—­he’s for ’Over the hills and far away.’”

The counsel for the prosecution finished his speech.  The judge summed up the case, the jury retired, and very shortly returned with the expected verdict of Guilty.  The chalk-white and shaking prisoner stood up, was sentenced and removed, and, the business of the day being over, the court adjourned.