The judge’s hard and unmoved tone of voice seemed to bring misgiving to her mind, and she trembled from head to foot as she falteringly answered—­

“The wild boys of the mountain kep’ it, my Lord, an’ so he couldn’t bring id home wid him.  But, indeed, my Lord, indeed he’s innocent—­I’ll swear he never done it!  Fur, oh! iv you knew the tindherness ov his heart—­he that niver hurt a fly!  Don’t be hard on him for the love ov mercy, an’ I’ll pray for you night an’ day.”

This was the last question she was asked, and having left the table, and regained her former position by her father’s side, she listened with moveless, motionless intensity to the judge’s “charge.”  He recapitulated the evidence—­dwelt on the strong circumstances that seemed to bespeak his guilt—­spoke of the mournful increase of crime—­of laws, and life, and property being at stake—­and finally closed his address with a sentence expressive of the extreme improbability of the prisoner’s defence; for he, on being asked if he had any thing further to say, replied in the negative, only asserting, in the most solemn manner, his innocence of the charge.

The jury retired, and Ellen’s hard, short breathings, alone told that she existed.  Her head was thrown back, her lips apart, and slightly quivering, and her eyes fixedly gazing on the empty box, with an anxious and wild stare of hope and suspense.  Owen’s face was very pale, and his lips livid—­there was the slightest perceptible emotion about the muscles of his mouth, but his eye quailed not, and his broad brow had the impress of an unquenched spirit as firmly fixed as ever on its marble front.  A quarter of an hour elapsed, and still the same agonizing suspense—­another, and the jury returned not—­five minutes, and they reentered.  Ellen’s heart, beat as if it would burst her bosom; and Owen’s pale cheek became a little more flushed, and his eye full of anxiety.  The foreman in a measured, feelingless tone pronounced the word “Guilty!” and a thrill of horror passed through the entire court, while that sickness which agonizes the very depths of the soul convulsed Owen’s face with a momentary spasm, and he faltered “God’s will be done.”  The judge slowly drew on the black cap, and still Ellen moved not—­it seemed as if the very blood within her veins was frozen, and that her life’s pulses no more could execute their functions.  No man, however brave or hardened, can view the near approach of certain death, and be unmoved; and as that old man, in tremulous tones, uttered the dread fiat of his fate, Owen’s eyes seemed actually to sink within his head—­the veins of his brow swelled and grew black, and his hands grasped the iron rail that surrounded the dock, as though he would force his fingers through it.  When all was over, and the fearful cap drawn off, Ellen seemed only then to awake to consciousness.  Her eyes slowly opened to their fullest extent—­their expression of despair was absolutely frightful—­a low, gurgling, half-choking sob forced itself from between her lips, and ere a hand could be outstretched to save her, she fell, as if quickly dashed to the ground by no mortal power—­her piercing shriek of agony ringing through the court-house, with a fearful, prolonged cadence.