all murderers to conceal the traces of their
guilt. They dig holes in the earth and bury it, they carry it into the
wilderness and hide it, they sink it in the depths of the sea. But the
earth will not contain it, the wilderness betrays the ghastly secret,
the waves cast up the horror.'

His voice rang through the crowded court like that of one possessed,
and every man trembled.

'He lowered it through the window, where the traces were found next
day. Then, clutching up his booty, and forgetting, it may be, that all
would be his erelong, or possibly not feeling sufficiently sure of his
heirship, he hurried down, with agitated tread, so that even the
half-sleeping girl in the room above could discern a something strange
about his walk.

'Then he carried off the body, mutilated for some mysterious and
terrible reason which may never be revealed--possibly to lighten his
hideous load; but let me spare you these shocking considerations. (All
this, remember, Lewis asks you to think was done by a young girl not
twenty years of age.)

'You know the rest. You know how the fisherman saw others that night,
one of them a tall man, going in the direction of the bay where the
remains were washed ashore within twenty-four hours. One only point I
have to notice. Whether in carelessness, or whether in hellish malice,
that man left a damning stain upon the door-handle in the prisoner's
room. I say I know not whether he did this in his haste and guilty
dread, or whether he did this with a deliberate and diabolical
intention of throwing suspicion upon a hapless, innocent girl, whom he
has since pursued through every stage of this history, and under every
form of law, with the persistence of a machine, and the passion of a
bloodhound!'

The speaker's voice vibrated with the fury which he threw into
this denunciation. The jury trembled under his eye, as he rolled
it fiercely from face to face. As for the object of these fearful
invectives, he turned red and white by turns, and would have
interrupted over and over again if he had not been almost forcibly
restrained by the solicitor for the prosecution.

Tressamer went on, after a moment's pause to recover from his
exhaustion:

'And Eleanor Owen, what of her? What was she doing meanwhile? Pacing
the shore, and trying to soothe her throbbing head with the medicine
of the sea breezes. At last she returns, tired and abstracted. She
puts her key into the latch, the door yields before he