day by the crowd—all this strikes home upon me as sharply as it then did, after the numb apathy of waiting.
As the jury huddled into their places I stole a look at my counsel. He paused for a moment from his task of trimming a quill, shot a quick glance at the foreman's face, and then went on cutting as coolly as ever.
"Gentlemen of the jury"—it was the judge's voice—"are you agreed upon your verdict?"
"We are."
"Do you find the prisoner guilty or not guilty?"
"Not guilty."
It must have been full a minute, as I leant back clutching the rail hi front of me, before I saw anything but the bleared eyes of the candles, or heard anything but a hoarse murmur from the crowd. But as soon as the court ceased to heave, and I could stare about me, I looked towards my counsel again.
He was still shaping his pen. He made no motion to come forward and shake hands over my acquittal, for which he had worked un-
