Jonathan Floyd in open court had been base enough to accuse Mr. Jennings of the murder.  Mr. Jennings indeed! a strict man of high character, lately dismissed, after twenty years’ service, in the most arbitrary manner by young Sir John, who had taken a great liking to the Actons.  People could guess why, when they looked on Grace:  and Grace, too, was sufficient reason to account for Jonathan’s wicked suspicions; of course, it was the lover’s interest to throw the charge on other people.  As to Mr. Jennings himself, just recovered from a fit of illness, it was astonishing how liberally and indulgently he prayed the court to show the prisoner mercy:  his white and placid face looked quite benevolently at him—­and this respectable person was a murderer, eh, Mr. Jonathan?

So, when the judge summed up, and clearly could neither find nor make a loop-hole for the prisoner, the matter seemed accomplished; all knew what the verdict must be—­poor Roger Acton had not the shadow of a chance.

CHAPTER XLV.

ROGER’S DEFENCE.

THEN, while the jury were consulting—­they would not leave the box, it seemed so clear—­Roger broke the death-like silence; and he said: 

“Judge, I crave your worship’s leave to speak:  and hearken to me, countrymen.  Many evil things have I done in my time, both against God and my neighbour:  I am ashamed, as well I may be, when I think on ’em:  I have sworn, and drunk, and lied; I have murmured loudly—­coveted wickedly—­ay, and once I stole.  It was a little theft, I lost it on the spot, and never stole again:  pray God, I never may.  Nevertheless, countrymen, and sinful though I be in the sight of Him who made us, according to man’s judgment and man’s innocency, I had lived among you all blameless, until I found that crock of gold.  I did find it, countrymen, as God is my witness, and, therefore, though a sinner, I appeal to Him:  He knoweth that I found it in the sedge that skirts my garden, at the end of my own celery trench.  I did wickedly and foolishly to hide my find, worse to deny it, and worst of all to spend it in the low lewd way I did.  But of robbery I am guiltless as you are.  And as to this black charge of murder, till Simon Jennings spoke the word, I never knew it had been done.  Folk of Hurstley, friends and neighbours, you all know Roger Acton—­the old-time honest Roger of these forty years, before the devil made him mad by giving him much gold—­did he ever maliciously do harm to man or woman, to child or poor dumb brute?—­No, countrymen, I am no murderer.  That the seemings are against me, I wot well; they may excuse your judgment in condemning me to death—­and I and the good gentleman there who took my part (Heaven bless you, sir!) cannot go against the facts:  but they speak falsely, and I truly; Roger Acton is an innocent man:  may God defend the right!”

“Amen!” earnestly whispered a tremulous female voice, “and God will save you, father.”