d. Those were the most terrible minutes they had ever spent
in their lives; but they were minutes of hope--of hope of relief from a
burthen, becoming more intolerable with every second's delay ere the
rebound.

Long as it seemed to them, it was not in reality more than a quarter of
an hour before the jury returned, and with slow grave movements, and
serious countenances, resumed their places. Leonard was already in his;
his cheek paler, his fingers locked together, and his eyes scanning
each as they came forward, and one by one their names were called over.
His head was erect, and his bearing had something undaunted, though
intensely anxious.

The question was put by the clerk of the court, 'How find you? Guilty
or Not guilty?'

Firmly, though sadly, the foreman rose, and his answer was, 'We find
the prisoner guilty; but we earnestly recommend him to mercy.'

Whether Tom felt or not that Aubrey was in a dead faint, and rested
against him as a senseless weight, he paid no visible attention to
aught but one face, on which his eyes were riveted as though nothing
would ever detach them--and that face was not the prisoner's.

Others saw Leonard's face raised upwards, and a deep red flush spread
over brow and cheek, though neither lip nor eye wavered.

Then came the question whether the prisoner had anything to say,
wherefore judgment should not be passed upon him.

Leonard made a step forward, and his clear steady tone did not shake
for a moment as he spoke. 'No. I see that appearances are so much
against me, that man can hardly decide otherwise. I have known from
the first that nothing could show my innocence but the finding of the
receipt. In the absence of that one testimony, I feel that I have had
a fair trial, and that all has been done for me that could be done; and
I thank you for it, my Lord, and you, Gentlemen,' as he bent his head;
then added, 'I should like to say one thing more. My Lord, you would
not let the question be asked, how I brought all this upon myself. I
wish to say it myself, for it is that which makes my sentence just in
the sight of God. It is true that, though I never lifted my hand
against my poor uncle, I did in a moment of passion fling a stone at my
brother, which, but for God's mercy, might indeed have made me a
murderer. It was for this, and other like outbreaks, that I was sent
to the mill; and it may be just that for it I should die--though indeed
I never hurt my uncle.'