But presently he heard something that compelled him to listen, and made the sense of sight less absorbing.  A woman was in the witness-box, a middle-aged woman, who spoke in a firm distinct voice.  She said, “My name is Sarah Stone.  I am a widow, and keep a small shop licensed to sell tobacco, snuff, and tea in Church Lane, Stoniton.  The prisoner at the bar is the same young woman who came, looking ill and tired, with a basket on her arm, and asked for a lodging at my house on Saturday evening, the 27th of February.  She had taken the house for a public, because there was a figure against the door.  And when I said I didn’t take in lodgers, the prisoner began to cry, and said she was too tired to go anywhere else, and she only wanted a bed for one night.  And her prettiness, and her condition, and something respectable about her clothes and looks, and the trouble she seemed to be in made me as I couldn’t find in my heart to send her away at once.  I asked her to sit down, and gave her some tea, and asked her where she was going, and where her friends were.  She said she was going home to her friends:  they were farming folks a good way off, and she’d had a long journey that had cost her more money than she expected, so as she’d hardly any money left in her pocket, and was afraid of going where it would cost her much.  She had been obliged to sell most of the things out of her basket, but she’d thankfully give a shilling for a bed.  I saw no reason why I shouldn’t take the young woman in for the night.  I had only one room, but there were two beds in it, and I told her she might stay with me.  I thought she’d been led wrong, and got into trouble, but if she was going to her friends, it would be a good work to keep her out of further harm.”

The witness then stated that in the night a child was born, and she identified the baby-clothes then shown to her as those in which she had herself dressed the child.

“Those are the clothes.  I made them myself, and had kept them by me ever since my last child was born.  I took a deal of trouble both for the child and the mother.  I couldn’t help taking to the little thing and being anxious about it.  I didn’t send for a doctor, for there seemed no need.  I told the mother in the day-time she must tell me the name of her friends, and where they lived, and let me write to them.  She said, by and by she would write herself, but not to-day.  She would have no nay, but she would get up and be dressed, in spite of everything I could say.  She said she felt quite strong enough; and it was wonderful what spirit she showed.  But I wasn’t quite easy what I should do about her, and towards evening I made up my mind I’d go, after Meeting was over, and speak to our minister about it.  I left the house about half-past eight o’clock.  I didn’t go out at the shop door, but at the back door, which opens into a narrow alley.  I’ve only got the ground-floor of the house, and the kitchen and bedroom both look into the alley.  I left the