your verdict?"

There was a solemn silence, during which nothing was heard but a
convulsive working about the chest and glottis of the foreman, who at
length said:

"We--we--we--we have."

"Is the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty?"

Here the internal but obstructed machinery of the chest and throat set
to work again, and at last the foreman was able to get out--"Guilty--"

Mrs. Hastings had heard enough, and too much; and, as the sentence was
pronounced, she instantly withdrew; but how to convey the melancholy
tidings to the _Cooleen Bawn_ she knew not. In the meantime the foreman,
who had not fully delivered himself of the verdict, added, after two or
three desperate hiccups--"on the second count."

This, if the foreman had not labored under such an extraordinary
hesitation, might have prevented much suffering, and many years of
unconscious calamity to one of the unhappy parties of whom we are
writing, inasmuch as the felony of the jewels would have been death,
whilst the elopement with a ward of Chancery was only transportation.

When Mrs. Hastings entered the room where the _Cooleen Bawn_ was
awaiting the verdict with a dreadful intensity of feeling, the latter
rose up, and, throwing her arms about her neck, looked into her face,
with an expression of eagerness and wildness, which Mrs. Hastings
thought might be best allayed by knowing the worst, as the heart, in
such circumstances, generally collects itself, and falls back upon its
own resources.

"Well, Mrs. Hastings, well--the verdict?"

"Collect yourself, my child--be firm--be a woman. Collect yourself--for
you will require it. The verdict--Guilty!"

The _Cooleen Bawn_ did not faint--nor become weak--but she put her fair
white hand to her forehead--then looked around the room, then upon Mrs.
Brown, and lastly upon Mrs. Hastings. They also looked upon her. God
help both her and them! Yes, they looked upon her countenance--that
lovely countenance--and then into her eyes--those eyes! But, alas! where
was their beauty now? Where their expression?

"Miss Folliard! my darling Helen!" exclaimed Mrs. Hastings, in
tears--"great God, what is this, Mrs. Brown? Come here and look at her."

Mrs. Brown, on looking at her, whispered, in choking accents, "Oh! my
God, the child's reason is overturned; what is there now in those once
glorious eyes but vacancy? Oh, that I had never lived to see this awful
day! Helen, the treasure, the delight of all who ever k