that either it must have taken him more than an hour and a half to walk a quarter of a mile—­which is obviously absurd—­or he must have been waiting for nearly two hours in the grounds.  Why did he not return at once to the house of Mr. Topham? (where it appears that he was staying).  For what—­or for whom—­was he waiting?  If he were in the park at the time of the murder, how came it that he heard no cries, gave the unhappy gentleman no assistance, and offers no suggestion or clue to the mystery beyond the obstinate denial of his own guilt, though he confesses to having been in the grounds during the whole time of the deadly struggle, and though he was found alone with scratched hands and blood-stained clothes beside the corpse of his avowed enemy?  We leave these questions to the consideration of our readers, as they will be for that of a conscientious and impartial jury, not, we trust, blinded by the wealth and position of the criminal to the hideous nature of the crime.

“The funeral is to take place to-morrow; George Manners is fully committed to take his trial for wilful murder at the ensuing assizes.”

The above condemning extract only too well represented the state of public feeling.  All Middlesex—­nay, all England—­was roused to indignation, and poor Edmund’s youth and infirmities made the crime appear the more cowardly and detestable.

CHAPTER IV.

DRIFTING TO THE END.

My misery between the time of the murder and the trial was terrible from many causes:  my brother’s death; George’s position; the knowledge of his sufferings, and my inability to see or soothe them—­and, worst of all, the firm conviction of his guilt in every one’s mind, and Harriet’s ceaseless reproaches.  I do not think that I should have lived through it, but for Dr. Penn.  That excellent and revered man’s kindness will, I trust, ever be remembered by me with due gratitude.  He went up to town constantly, at his own expense, and visited my dear George in Newgate, administering all the consolations of his high office and long experience, and being the bearer of our messages to each other.  From him also I gleaned all the news of which otherwise I should have been kept in ignorance; how George’s many friends were making every possible exertion on his behalf, and how an excellent counsel was retained for him.  But far beyond all his great kindness, was to me the simple fact that he shared my belief in George’s innocence; for there were times when the universal persuasion of his guilt almost shook, not my faith, but my reason.