“—–Her speech is nothing,
Yet the unshaped use of it doth move
The hearers to collection. They aim at it,
And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts.”
_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 experienced 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.
[Illustration]