Constance had been hearing a good deal lately of grand juries, but she had understood nothing, nor had she sought to understand.

“I’m very glad it’s come on so soon,” she said.  “In a sense, that is!  I was afraid Sam might be kept at Stafford for days.  Do you think it will last long?”

“Not it!” said Mr. Critchlow, positively.  “There’s naught in it to spin out.”

Then a silence, punctuated by the sound of stitching.

Constance would really have preferred not to converse with the old man; but the desire for reassurance, for the calming of her own fears, forced her to speak, though she knew well that Mr. Critchlow was precisely the last man in the town to give moral assistance if he thought it was wanted.

“I do hope everything will be all right!” she murmured.

“Everything’ll be all right!” he said gaily.  “Everything’ll be all right.  Only it’ll be all wrong for Dan.”

“Whatever do you mean, Mr. Critchlow?” she protested.

Nothing, she reflected, could rouse pity in that heart, not even a tragedy like Daniel’s.  She bit her lip for having spoken.

“Well,” he said in loud tones, frankly addressing the girls round the stove as much as Constance.  “I’ve met with some rare good arguments this new year, no mistake!  There’s been some as say that Dan never meant to do it.  That’s as may be.  But if it’s a good reason for not hanging, there’s an end to capital punishment in this country.  ‘Never meant’!  There’s a lot of ’em as ’never meant’!  Then I’m told as she was a gallivanting woman and no housekeeper, and as often drunk as sober.  I’d no call to be told that.  If strangling is a right punishment for a wife as spends her time in drinking brandy instead of sweeping floors and airing sheets, then Dan’s safe.  But I don’t seem to see Judge Lindley telling the jury as it is.  I’ve been a juryman under Judge Lindley myself—­and more than once—­and I don’t seem to see him, like!” He paused with his mouth open.  “As for all them nobs,” he continued, “including th’ rector, as have gone to Stafford to kiss the book and swear that Dan’s reputation is second to none—­if they could ha’ sworn as Dan wasn’t in th’ house at all that night, if they could ha’ sworn he was in Jericho, there’d ha’ been some sense in their going.  But as it is, they’d ha’ done better to stop at home and mind their business.  Bless us!  Sam wanted me to go!”

He laughed again, in the faces of the horrified and angry women.

“I’m surprised at you, Mr. Critchlow!  I really am!” Constance exclaimed.

And the assistants inarticulately supported her with vague sounds.  Miss Insull got up and poked the stove.  Every soul in the establishment was loyally convinced that Daniel Povey would be acquitted, and to breathe a doubt on the brightness of this certainty was a hideous crime.  The conviction was not within the domain of reason; it was an act of faith; and arguments merely fretted, without in the slightest degree disturbing it.