University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.

Hamlet.

The reader is not to be surprised at the intimacy which existed
between Thomas Dunscomb and the half-educated semi-rude being
who was associated with him as counsel in the important cause
that was now soon to be tried. Such intimacies are by no means
uncommon in the course of events; men often overlooking great
dissimilarities in principles, as well as in personal qualities, in
managing their associations, so far as they are connected with
the affairs of this world. The circumstance that Timms had
studied in our counsellor's office would, as a matter of course,
produce certain relations between them in after-life; but the
student had made himself useful to his former master on a great
variety of occasions, and was frequently employed by him whenever
there was a cause depending in the courts of Duke's, the
county in which the unpolished, half-educated, but hard-working
and successful county practitioner had established himself. It
may be questioned if Dunscomb really knew all the agencies set
in motion by his coadjutor in difficult cases; but, whether he did
or not, it is quite certain that many of them were of a character
not to see the light. It is very much the fashion of our good
republic to turn up its nose at all other lands, a habit no doubt

inherited from our great ancestors the English; and one of its
standing themes of reproach are the legal corruptions and abuses
known to exist in France, Spain, Italy, &c.; all over the world,
in short, except among ourselves. So far as the judges are concerned,
there is a surprising adherence to duty, when bribes alone
are concerned, no class of men on earth being probably less obnoxious
to just imputations of this character than the innumerable
corps of judicial officers; unpaid, poor, hard-worked, and we
might almost add unhonoured, as they are. That cases in which
bribes are taken do occur, we make no doubt; it would be
assuming too much in favour of human nature to infer the contrary;
but, under the system of publicity that prevails, it would
not be easy for this crime to extend very far without its being
exposed. It is greatly to the credit of the vast judicial corps of
the States, that bribery is an offence which does not appear to be
even suspected at all; or, if there be exceptions to the rule, they
exist in but few and isolated cases. Here, however, our eulogies
on American justice must cease. All that Timms has intimated
and Dunscomb has asserted concerning the juries is true; and
the evil is one that each day increases. The tendency of everything
belonging to the government is to throw power directly
into the hands of the people, who, in nearly all cases, use it as
men might be supposed to do who are perfectly irresponsible,
have only a remote, and half the time an invisible interest in its
exercise; who do not feel or understand the consequences of their
own deeds, and have a pleasure in asserting a seeming independence,
and of appearing to think and act for themselves. Under
such a regime it is self-apparent that principles and law must
suffer; and so the result proves daily, if not hourly. The institution
of the jury, one of very questionable utility in its best
aspects in a country of really popular institutions, becomes nearly
intolerable, unless the courts exercise a strong and salutary influence
on the discharge of its duties. This influence, unhappily, has
been gradually lessening among us for the last half century, until
it has reached a point where nothing is more common than to
find the judge charging the law one way, and the jury determining
it another. In most cases, it is true, there is a remedy for this
abuse of power, but it is costly, and ever attended with that delay
in hope “which maketh the heart sick.” Any one, of even the
dullest apprehension, must, on a little reflection, perceive that a
condition of things in which the ends of justice are defeated, or
so procrastinated as to produce the results of defeat, is one of the
least desirable of all those in which men can be placed under the
social compact; to say nothing of its corrupting and demoralizing
effects on the public mind.

All this Dunscomb saw, more vividly, perhaps, than most
others of the profession, for men gradually get to be so accustomed
to abuses as not only to tolerate them, but to come to
consider them as evils inseparable from human frailty. It was
certain, however, that while our worthy counsellor so far submitted
to the force of things as frequently to close his eyes to
Timms's manœuvres, a weakness of which nearly every one is
guilty who has much to do with the management of men and
things, he was never known to do aught himself that was unworthy
of his high standing and well-merited reputation at the
bar. There is nothing unusual in this convenient compromise
between direct and indirect relations with that which is wrong.

It had early been found necessary to employ local counsel in
Mary Monson's case, and Timms was recommended by his old
master as one every way suited to the particular offices needed.
Most of the duties to be performed were strictly legal; though it
is not to be concealed that some soon presented themselves that
would not bear the light. John Wilmeter communicated to
Timms the particular state of the testimony, as he and Michael
Millington had been enabled to get at it; and among other things
he stated his conviction that the occupants of the farm nearest to

the late dwelling of the Goodwins were likely to prove some of
the most dangerous of the witnesses against their client. This
family consisted of a sister-in-law, the Mrs. Burton already mentioned,
three unmarried sisters, and a brother, who was the husband
of the person first named. On this hint Timms immediately
put himself in communication with these neighbours, concealing
from them, as well as from all others but good Mrs. Gott, that
he was retained in the case at all.

Timms was soon struck with the hints and half-revealed statements
of the persons of this household; more especially with
those of the female portion of it. The man appeared to him to
have observed less than his wife and sisters; but even he had
much to relate, though, as Timms fancied, more that he had
gleaned from those around him, than from his own observations.
The sisters, however, had a good deal to say; while the wife, though
silent and guarded, seemed to this observer, as well as to young
Millington, to know the most. When pressed to tell all, Mrs.
Burton looked melancholy and reluctant, frequently returning to
the subject of her own accord when it had been casually dropped,
but never speaking explicitly, though often invited so to do. It
was not the cue of the counsel for the defence to drag out unfavourable
evidence; and Timms employed certain confidential
agents, whom he often used in the management of his causes, to
sift this testimony as well as it could be done without the constraining
power of the law. The result was not very satisfactory,
in any sense, more appearing to be suppressed than was related.
It was feared that the legal officers of the State would meet with
better success.

The investigations of the junior counsel did not end here. He
saw that the public sentiment was setting in a current so strongly
against Mary Monson, that he soon determined to counteract it,
as well as might be, by producing a reaction. This is a very
common, not to say a very powerful agent, in the management

of all interests that are subject to popular opinion, in a democracy.
Even the applicant for public favour is none the worse
for beginning his advances by “a little aversion,” provided he
can contrive to make the premeditated change in his favour take
the aspect of a reaction. It may not be so easy to account for
this caprice of the common mind, as it is certain that it exists.
Perhaps we like to yield to a seeming generosity, have a pleasure
in appearing to pardon, find a consolation for our own secret
consciousness of errors, in thus extending favour to the errors
of others, and have more satisfaction in preferring those who are
fallible, than in exalting the truly upright and immaculate; if,
indeed, any such there be. Let the cause be what it may, we
think the facts to be beyond dispute; and so thought Timms
also, for he no sooner resolved to counteract one public opinion
by means of another, than he set about the task with coolness
and intelligence — in short, with a mixture of all the good and
bad qualities of the man.

The first of his measures was to counteract, as much as he
could, the effects of certain paragraphs that had appeared in
some of the New York journals. A man of Timms's native
shrewdness had no difficulty in comprehending the more vulgar
moral machinery of a daily press. Notwithstanding its `we's,'
and its pretension to represent public opinion, and to protect the
common interests, he thoroughly understood it was merely one
mode of advancing the particular views, sustaining the personal
schemes, and not unfrequently of gratifying the low malignity of
a single individual; the press in America differing from that of
nearly all other countries in the fact that it is not controlled by associations,
and does not reflect the decisions of many minds, or contend
for principles that, by their very character, have a tendency
to elevate the thoughts. There are some immaterial exceptions as
relates to the latter characteristic, perhaps, principally growing
out of the great extra-constitutional question of slavery, that

has quite unnecessarily been drawn into the discussions of the
times through the excited warmth of zealots; but, as a rule, the
exciting political questions that elsewhere compose the great
theme of the newspapers, enlarging their views, and elevating
their articles, may be regarded as settled among ourselves. In
the particular case with which Timms was now required to
deal, there was neither favour nor malice to counteract. The
injustice, and a most cruel injustice it was, was merely in catering
to a morbid desire for the marvellous in the vulgar, which
might thus be turned to profit.

Among the reporters there exists the same diversity of qualities
as among other men, beyond a question; but the tendency
of the use of all power is to abuse; and Timms was perfectly
aware that these men had far more pride in the influence they
wielded, than conscience in its exercise. A ten or a twenty dollar
note, judiciously applied, would do a great deal with this “Palladium
of our Liberties,” — there being at least a dozen of these
important safeguards interested in the coming trial—our associate
counsel very well knew; and Dunscomb suspected that some
such application of the great persuader had been made, in consequence
of one or two judicious and well-turned paragraphs that
appeared soon after the consultation. But Timms's management
of the press was mainly directed to that of the county newspapers.
There were three of these; and as they had better characters
than most of the Manhattanese journals, so were they
more confided in. It is true, that the whig readers never heeded
in the least anything that was said in “The Duke's County Democrat;”
but the friends of the last took their revenge in discrediting
all that appeared in the columns of the Biberry Whig. In
this respect, the two great parties of the country were on a par;
each manifesting a faith that, in a better cause, might suffice to
move mountains; and, on the other hand, an unbelief that drove
them into the dangerous folly of disregarding their foes. As

Mary Monson had nothing to do with politics, it was not difficult
to get suitable paragraphs inserted in the hostile columns, which
was also done within eight-and-forty hours after the return of the
junior counsel to his own abode.

Timms, however, was far from trusting to the newspapers
alone. He felt that it might be well enough to set `fire to fight
fire;' but his main reliance was on the services that could be rendered
by a timely and judicious use of “the little member.”
Talkers was what he wanted; and well did he know where to
find them, and how to get them at work. A few he paid in a
direct, business-like way; taking no vouchers for the sums bestowed,
the reader may be assured; but entering each item carefully
in a little memorandum-book kept for his own private information.
These strictly confidential agents went to work with
experieneed discretion but great industry, and soon had some ten
or fifteen fluent female friends actively engaged in circulating
“They says,” in their respective neighbourhoods.

Timms had reflected a great deal on the character of the
defence it might be most prudent to get up and enlarge on. Insanity
had been worn out by too much use of late; and he scarce
gave that plea a second thought. This particular means of defence
had been discussed between him and Dunscomb, it is true;
but each of the counsel felt a strong repugnance against resorting
to it; the one on account of his indisposition to rely on anything
but the truth; the other, to use his own mode of expressing himself
on the occasion in question, because he “believed that jurors
could no longer be humbugged with that plea. There have been
all sorts of madmen and madwomen—”

“Gentlemen and lady murderers” —put in Dunscomb, drily.

“I ask your pardon, 'Squire; but, since you give me the use
of my nose, I will offend as little as possible with the tongue —
though, I rather conclude” — a form of expression much in
favour with Timms — “that should our verdict be `guilty,' you

will be disposed to allow there may be one lady criminal in the
world.”

“She is a most extraordinary creature, Timms; bothers me
more than any client I ever had!”

“Indeed! Waal, I had set her down as just the contrary —
for to me she seems to be as unconcerned as if the wise four-and-twenty
had not presented her to justice in the name of the people.”

“It is not in that sense that I am bothered — no client ever
gave counsel less trouble than Mary Monson in that respect. To
me, Timms, she does not appear to have any concern in reference
to the result.”

“Supreme innocence, or a well-practised experience. I have
defended many a person whom I knew to be guilty, and two or
three whom I believed to be innocent; but never before had as
cool a client as this!”

And very true was this. Even the announcement of the presentment
by the grand jury appeared to give Mary Monson no
great alarm. Perhaps she anticipated it from the first, and had
prepared herself for the event, by an exercise of a firmness little
common to her sex until the moments of extreme trial, when
their courage would seem to rise with the occasion. On her
companion, whom Timms had so elegantly styled her `Lady
Friend,' certainly as thoroughly vulgar an expression as was ever
drawn into the service of the heroics in gentility, warm-hearted
and faithful Marie Moulin, the intelligence produced far more
effect. It will be remembered that Wilmeter overheard the
single cry of “Mademoiselle” when this Swiss was first admitted
to the gaol; after which an impenetrable veil closed around their
proceedings. The utmost good feeling and confidence were apparent
in the intercourse between the young mistress and her maid;
if, indeed, Marie might thus be termed, after the manner in which
she was treated. So far from being kept at the distance which it

is usual to observe towards an attendant, the Swiss was admitted
to Mary Monson's table; and to the eyes of indifferent observers
she might very well pass for what Timms had so elegantly called
a “lady friend.” But Jack Wilmeter knew too much of the
world to be so easily misled. It is true, that when he paid his
short visits to the gaol, Marie Moulin sat sewing at the prisoner's
side, and occasionally she even hummed low, national
airs while he was present; but knowing the original condition
of the maid-servant, our young man was not to be persuaded that
his uncle's client was her peer, any more than were the jurors
who, agreeably to that profound mystification of the common law,
are thus considered and termed. Had not Jack Wilmeter known
the real position of Marie Moulin, her “Mademoiselle” would
have let him deeper into the secrets of the two than it is probable
either ever imagined. This word, in common with those of
“Monsieur” and “Madame,” are used, by French servants, differently
from what they are used in general society. Unaccompanied
by the names, the domestics of France commonly and
exclusively apply them to the heads of families, or those they
more immediately serve. Thus, it was far more probable that
Marie Moulin, meeting a mere general acquaintance in the prisoner,
would have called her “Mademoiselle Marie,” or “Mademoiselle
Monson,” or whatever might be the name by which she
had known the young lady, than by the general and still more
respectful appellation of “Mademoiselle.” On this peculiarity
of deportment Jack Wilmeter speculated profoundly; for a young
man who is just beginning to submit to the passion of love is
very apt to fancy a thousand things that he would never dream
of seeing in his cooler moments. Still, John had fancied himself
bound in the spells of another, until this extraordinary client of
his uncle's so unexpectedly crossed his path. Such is the human
heart.

Good and kind-hearted Mrs. Gott allowed the prisoner most

of the privileges that at all comported with her duty. Increased
precautions were taken for the security of the accused, as soon as
the presentment of the grand jury was made, by a direct order
from the court; but, these attended to, it was in the power of her
whom Timms might have called the “lady sheriff,” to grant a
great many little indulgences, which were quite cheerfully accorded,
and, to all appearances, as gratefully accepted.

John Wilmeter was permitted to pay two regular visits at the
grate each day, and as many more as his ingenuity could invent
plausible excuses for making. On all occasions Mrs. Gott opened
the outer door with the greatest good will; and, like a true woman
as she is, she had the tact to keep as far aloof from the barred
window where the parties met, as the dimensions of the outer room
would allow. Marie Moulin was equally considerate, generally
plying her needle at such times, in the depth of the cell, with
twice the industry manifested on other occasions. Nevertheless,
nothing passed between the young people that called for this delicate
reserve. The conversation, it is true, turned as little as
possible on the strange and awkward predicament of one of the
colloquists, or the employment that kept the young man at
Biberry. Nor did it turn at all on love. There is a premonitory
state in these attacks of the heart, during which skilful observers
may discover the symptoms of approaching disease, but which do
not yet betray the actual existence of the epidemic. On the part
of Jack himself, it is true that these symptoms were getting to
be not only somewhat apparent, but they were evidently fast
becoming more and more distinct; while, on the part of the
lady, any one disposed to be critical might have seen that her
colour deepened, and there were signs of daily increasing interest
in them, as the hours for these interviews approached. She was
interested in her young legal adviser; and interest, with women,
is the usual precursor of the master-passion. Wo betide the
man who cannot interest, but who only amuses!

Although so little to the point was said in the short dialogues
between Wilmeter and Mary Monson, there were dialogues held
with the good Mrs. Gott, by each of the parties respectively, in
which less reserve was observed; and the heart was permitted to
have more influence over the movements of the tongue. The
first of these conversations that we deem it necessary to relate,
that took place after the presentment, was one that immediately
succeeded an interview at the barred window, and which occurred
three days subsequently to the consultation in town, and two
after Timms's machinery was actively at work in the county.

“Well, how do you find her spirits to-day, Mr. Wilmington?”
asked Mrs. Gott, kindly, and catching the conventional sound of
the young man's name, from having heard it so often in the
mouth of Michael Millington. “It is an awful state for any
human being to be in, and she a young, delicate woman; to be
tried for murder, and for setting fire to a house, and all so
soon!”

“The most extraordinary part of this very extraordinary business,
Mrs. Gott,” Jack replied, “is the perfect indifference of
Miss Monson to her fearful jeopardy! To me, she seems much
more anxious to be closely immured in gaol, than to escape from
a trial that one would think, of itself, might prove more than so
delicate a young lady could bear up against.”

“Very true, Mr. Wilmington; and she never seems to think
of it at all! You see what she has done, sir?”

“Done!—Nothing in particular, I hope?”

“I don't know what you call particular; but to me it does
seem to be remarkably particular. Didn't you hear a piano, and
another musical instrument, as you approached the gaol?”

“I did, certainly, and wondered who could produce such admirable
music in Biberry.”

“Biberry has a great many musical ladies, I can tell you, Mr.
Wilmington,” returned Mrs. Gott, a little coldly, though her

good-nature instantly returned, and shone out in one of her most
friendly smiles; “and those, too, that have been to town, and
heard all the great performers from Europe, of whom there have
been so many of late years. I have heard good judges say that
Duke's county is not much behind the Island of Manhattan with
the piano in particular.”

“I remember, when at Rome, to have heard an Englishman
say that some young ladies from Lincolnshire were astonishing
the Romans with their Italian accent, in singing Italian operas,”
answered Jack, smiling. “There is no end, my dear Mrs. Gott,
to provincial perfection in all parts of the world.”

“I believe I understand you, but I am not at all offended at
your meaning. We are not very sensitive about the gaols. One
thing I will admit, however; Mary Monson's harp is the first, I
rather think, that was ever heard in Biberry. Gott tells me”—
this was the familiar manner in which the good woman spoke of
the high sheriff of Duke's, as the journals affectedly call that
functionary — “that he once met some German girls strolling
about the county, playing and singing for money, and who had
just such an instrument, but not one-half as elegant; and it has
brought to my mind a suspicion that Mary Monson may be one
of these travelling musicians.”

“What? to stroll about the country, and play and sing in the
streets of villages!”

“No, not that; I see well enough she cannot be of that sort.
But, there are all descriptions of musicians, as well as all descriptions
of doctors and lawyers, Mr. Wilmington. Why may
not Mary Monson be one of these foreigners who get so rich by
singing and playing? She has just as much money as she wants,
and spends it freely too. This I know, from seeing the manner
in which she uses it. For my part, I wish she had less music
and less money just now; for they are doing her no great good
in Biberry!”

“Why not? Can any human being find fault with melody
and a liberal spirit?”

“Folks will find fault with anything, Mr. Wilmington, when
they have nothing better to do. You know how it is with our
villagers here, as well as I do. Most people think Mary Monson
guilty, and a few do not. Those that think her guilty say it is
insolent in her to be singing and playing in the very gaol in
which she is confined; and talk loud against her for that very
reason.”

“Would they deprive her of a consolation as innocent as that
she obtains from her harp and her piano, in addition to her other
sufferings! Your Biberry folk must be particularly hard-hearted,
Mrs. Gott.”

“Biberry people are like York people, and American people,
and English people, and all other people, I fancy, if the truth
was known, Mr. Wilmington. What they don't like they disapprove
of, that's all. Now, was I one of them that believe Mary
Monson did actually murder the Goodwins, and plunder their
drawers, and set fire to their house, it would go ag'in my feelings
too, to hear her music, well as she plays, and sweet as she draws
out the sounds from those wires. Some of our folks take the
introduction of the harp into the gaol particularly hard!”

“Why that instrument more than another? It was the one
on which David played.”

“They say it was David's favourite, and ought only to be
struck to religious words and sounds.”

“It is a little surprising that your excessively conscientious
people so often forget that charity is the chiefest of all the Christian
graces.”

“They think that the love of God comes first, and that they
ought never to lose sight of his honour and glory. But I agree
with you, Mr. Wilmington; `feel for your fellow-creatures' is
my rule; and I'm certain I am then feeling for my Maker.

Yes; many of the neighbours insist that a harp is unsuited to a
gaol, and they tell me that the instrument on which Mary Monson
plays is a real antique.”

“Antique! What, a harp made in remote ages?”

“No, I don't mean that exactly,” returned Mrs. Gott, colouring
a little; “but a harp made so much like those used by the
Psalmist, that one could not tell them apart.”

“I dare say David had many varieties of stringed instruments,
from the lute up; but harps are very common, Mrs. Gott — so
common that we hear them now in the streets, and on board the
steamboats even. There is nothing new in them, even in this
country.”

“Yes, sir, in the streets and on board the boats; but the public
will tolerate things done for them, that they won't tolerate in individuals.
I suppose you know that, Mr. Wilmington?”

“We soon learn as much in this country — but the gaols are
made for the public, and the harps ought to be privileged in them,
as well as in other public places.”

“I don't know how it is — I'm not very good at reasoning —
but, somehow or another, the neighbours don't like that Mary
Monson should play on the harp; or even on the piano, situated
as she is. I do wish, Mr. Wilmington, you could give her a hint
on the subject?”

“Shall I tell her that the music is unpleasant to you?”

“As far from that as possible! I delight in it; but the neighbours
do not. Then she never shows herself at the grate, to folks
outside, like all the other prisoners. The public wants to see and
to converse with her.”

“You surely could not expect a young and educated female to
be making a spectacle of herself, for the gratification of the eyes
of all the vulgar and curious in and about Biberry!”

“Hush — Mr. Wilmington, you are most too young to take
care of such a cause. 'Squire Timms, now, is a man who understands

Duke's county, and he would tell you it is not wise to
talk of the vulgar hereabouts; at least not until the verdict is in.
Besides, most people would think that folks have a right to look
at a prisoner in the common gaol. I know they act as if they
thought so.”

“It is hard enough to be accused and confined, without subjecting
the party to any additional degradation. No man has a
right to ask to look at Miss Monson, but those she sees fit to receive,
and the officials of the law. It would be an outrage to
tolerate mere idle curiosity.”

“Well, if you think so, Mr. Wilmington, do not let everybody
know it. Several of the clergy have either been here, or have
sent to offer their visits, if acceptable.”

“And what has been the answer?” demanded Jack, a little
eagerly.

“Mary Monson has received all these offers as if she had been
a queen! politely, but coldly; once or twice, or when the Methodist
and the Baptist came, and they commonly come first, I
thought she seemed hurt. Her colour went and came like lightning.
Now, she was pale as death — next, as bright as a rose—
what a colour she has at times, Mr. Wilmington! Duke's is
rather celebrated for rosy faces; but it would be hard to find her
equal when she is not thinking.”

“Of what, my good Mrs. Gott?”

“Why, most of the neighbours say, of the Goodwins. For
my part, as I do not believe she ever hurt a hair of the head of
the old man and old woman, I can imagine that she has disagreeable
things to think of that are in nowise connected with
them.”

“She certainly has disagreeable things to make her cheeks
pale that are connected with that unfortunate couple. But, I
ought to know all: To what else do the neighbours object?”

“To the foreign tongues — they think when a grand jury has

found a bill, the accused ought to talk nothing but plain English,
so that all near her can understand what she says.”

“In a word, it is not thought sufficient to be accused of such
a crime as murder, but all other visitations must follow, to render
the charge as horrible as may be!”

“That is not the way they look at it. The public fancies that
in a public matter they have a right to know all about a thing.”

“And when there is a failure in the proof, they imagine, invent,
and assert.”

“'Tis the ways of the land. I suppose all nations have their
ways, and follow them.”

“One thing surprises me a little in this matter,” Jack rejoined,
after musing a moment; “it is this. In most cases in which
women have any connection with the law, the leaning in this
country, and more particularly of late, has been in their favour.”

“Well,” Mrs. Gott quietly but quickly interrupted, “and
ought it not to be so?”

“It ought not, unless the merits are with them. Justice is
intended to do that which is equitable; and it is not fair to assume
that women are always right, and men always wrong. I know
my uncle thinks that not only the decisions of late years, but
the laws, have lost sight of the wisdom of the past, and are gradually
placing the women above the men, making her instead of
him the head of the family.”

“Well, Mr. Wilmington, and isn't that quite right?” demanded
Mrs. Gott, with a good-natured nod.

“My uncle thinks it very wrong, and that by a mistaken gallantry
the peace of families is undermined, and their discipline
destroyed; as, in punishment, by a false philanthropy, rogues are
petted at the expense of honest folk. Such are the opinions of
Mr. Thomas Dunscomb, at least.”

“Ay, Mr. Thomas Dunscomb is an old bachelor; and bachelors'
wives, and bachelors' children, as we well know, are always admirably

managed. It is a pity they are not more numerous,”
retorted the indomitably good-humoured wife of the sheriff.
“But, you see that, in this case of Mary Monson, the feeling is
against, rather than in favour of a woman. That may be owing
to the fact that one of the persons murdered was a lady also.”

“Dr. McBrain says that both were females—or lady-murdered
—as I suppose we must call them; as doubtless you have heard,
Mrs. Gott. Perhaps he is believed, and the fact may make doubly
against the accused.”

“He is not believed. Everybody hereabouts knows, that one
of the skeletons was that of Peter Goodwin. They say that the
District Attorney means to show that, beyond all dispute. They
tell me that it is a law, in a case of this sort, first to show there
has been a murder; second, to show who did it.”

“This is something like the course of proceeding, I believe;
though I never sat on a trial for this offence. It is of no great
moment what the district attorney does, so that he do not prove
that Miss Monson is guilty; and this, my kind-hearted Mrs. Gott,
you and I do not believe he can do.”

“In that we are agreed, sir. I no more think that Mary Monson
did these things, than I think I did them myself.”

Jack expressed his thanks in a most grateful look, and there
the interview terminated