He rose; every eye was fixed upon him, men held their breath, wondering what sort of defence could issue from the lips of the parricide.

He spoke; the clear, rich, mellow, unimpassioned tones of his voice rolled over that mass of human heads, penetrating every heart, and reaching every ear.

“My lord, and you gentlemen of the jury, I rise not with the idea of saving my life, by an avowal of my innocence, for the evidence which has been given against me is of too conclusive a nature for me to hope for that; I merely state the simple fact, that I am not guilty of the dreadful crime laid to my charge; and I leave it to God, in whose hands are the issues of life and death, to prove the truth of my words.

“The greater part of the evidence brought against me is true; the circumstances recorded against me really occurred; the letter just read was penned by my own hand; yet, in the face of these overwhelming facts, I declare myself innocent of the crime laid to my charge.  I know not in what manner my father met his death.  I am as ignorant as you can be of the hand that dealt the fatal blow.  I confess that I sought his presence with the dreadful determination of committing murder; but the crime was against myself.  For this I deserve punishment—­for this I am content to die:  to this charge, made by myself, I plead guilty.  I look around me—­in every face I see doubt and doom.  I stand here a mark and scorn to the whole world; but, though all unite in my condemnation, I still fearlessly and distinctly declare my innocence.  I am neither a parricide nor a murderer! and I now await my sentence with the calmness and fortitude which a clear conscience alone can give.”

Murmurs of disapprobation ran though the court.

“What a hypocrite!” muttered some, as the jury left the court to consult together about the verdict.

“Do you observe the striking likeness between the prisoner at the bar and his cousin, the second witness against him?” whispered a gentleman in the crowd to a friend near him.  “By Jove, ’tis a fearful resemblance.  I would not be so like the murderer for worlds.  ’Tis the same face.”

“Perhaps,” said his friend, “they are partners in guilt.  I have my doubts.  But ’tis unlawful to condemn any man.”

“He’s a bad fellow by his own account,” said the other.  “It was he who first led the prisoner to commit the theft.  I think one of them deserves death as much as the other.”

“Whist, man!  Yon handsome rogue is the miser’s heir.”

“Humph!” said the first speaker.  “If I were on the jury—­”

“Here they come, there is death in their very looks, I thought as much, he is found guilty.”

The judge rose; a death-like stillness pervaded the court during his long and impressive address to the prisoner.  The sentence of death was then pronounced, and Anthony Marcus Hurdlestone was ordered for execution on the following Monday.