There were early prayers in our little church in the morning; too early, Harriet said, for her to attend much, especially of late, when Dr. Penn’s championship of George Manners had led her to discover more formalism in his piety, and northern broadness in his accent, than before.  But these quiet services were my daily comfort in those troublous days; and in the sweet fresh walk home across the park, my more than father and I hatched endless conspiracies on George’s behalf between the church porch and the rectory gate.  Our chief difficulty, I confess, lay in the question that the world had by this time so terribly answered—­who did it?  If George were innocent, who was guilty?  My poor brother had not been popular, and I do not say that one’s mind could not have fixed on a man more likely to commit the crime than George, under not less provocation.  But it was an awful deed, Nelly, to lay to any man’s charge, even in thought; and no particle of evidence arose to fix the guilt on any one else, or even to suggest an accomplice.  As the time wore on, suspense became sickening.

“Sir,” I said to him one day, “I am breaking down.  I have brought some plants to set in your garden.  I wish you would give me something to do for you.  Your shirts to make, your stockings to darn.  If I were a poor woman I should work down my trouble.  As it is—­”

“Hush!” said the doctor; you are what God has made you.  My dear madam, Janet tells me, what my poor eyes have hardly observed, that my ruffles are more worn than beseems a doctor in divinity.  Now for myself—­”

“Hush!” said I, mimicking him.  “My dear sir, you have taught me to plot and conspire, and this very afternoon I shall hold a secret interview with Mistress Janet.  But say something about my trouble.  What will happen?—­How will it end?—­What shall we do?”

“My love,” he said, “keep heart.  I fully believe in his innocence.  There is heavy evidence against him, but there are also some strong points in his favour; and you must believe that the jury have no object to do anything but justice, or believe anything but the truth, and that they will find accordingly.  And God defend the right!”

Eleanor!—­they found him Guilty.

* * * * *

I have asked Dr. Penn to permit me to make an extract from his journal in this place.  It is less harrowing to copy than to recall.  I omit the pious observations and reflections which grace the original.  Comforting as they are to me, it seems a profanity to make them public; besides, it is his wish that I should withhold them, which is sufficient.

From the Diary of the Rev. Arthur Penn, D.D., Rector of Crossdale, Middlesex.