of it no better than could those poor fishermen who heard it nineteen centuries ago. 'What is your verdict, gentlemen?' said the Clerk of Arraigns, whose own voice sounded so ludicrously trite in comparison with that of the foreman, that it seemed to have no place in human nature. 'I understand,' said the foreman of the jury, 'according to your laws the penalty is death.' 'Yes, sir,' said the Clerk of Arraigns, with a quiet dignity, 'the penalty according to the law is death.' 'The jury return a verdict of Not Guilty,' replied the foreman instantly, stooping to write with his finger on the rail in front of him, as though he had heard him not."
At this point Mr. Weekes rose excitedly.
"My lord," he cried, "this blasphemous travesty has gone too far. It must be carried no farther. It must cease."
"Mr. Weekes," said Northcote, turning to confront him, while a wave of emotion swept over the court which seemed to make the air vibrate, "I must ask you resume your seat." He pointed with a finger with sorrowful sternness. "I cannot submit to interruption at such a moment as this. You hold your brief for the Crown; I hold mine for God and human nature."
The hush which followed was broken by a poor actor among the jury. He had been out of an engagement for two years, and he had left his home that morning with his wife sitting with a child at her breast before a grate without a fire in it.
"That's true," he muttered heavily.
"My lord, I appeal to you," cried Mr. Weekes more excitedly than ever. "I did not come here to be browbeaten and insulted. I did not come here
