e
knew what druv me to it,--but I did n't do it,--I never said I did. I'll
die innocent!"

These words were uttered with a wild volubility, and, when over, the
prisoner crouched down in the dock, and buried his face in his hands.
From that instant he never spoke a word. The trial was prolonged till
late into the night; a commission was sworn and sent to the inn, to
examine young Dalton and interrogate him on every point. All that skill
and address could do were exerted by the counsel for the defence; but,
as the case proceeded, the various facts only tended to strengthen and
corroborate each other, and long before the jury retired their verdict
was certain.

"Guilty, my Lord!" And, well known and anticipated as the words were,
they were heard in all that solemn awe their terrible import conveys.

The words seemed to rouse the prisoner from his state; for, as if with
a convulsive effort, he sprang to his legs, and advanced to the front
of the dock. To the dreadful question of the Judge, as to what he had to
say, why sentence of death should not be pronounced upon him, he made
no answer; and his wild gaze and astonished features showed an almost
unconsciousness of all around him. From this state of stupor he soon
rallied, and, grasping the iron spikes with his hands, he protruded his
head and shoulders over the dock, while he carried his eyes over the
assembled crowd, till at last they lighted on the spot where Cahill and
D'Esmonde were seated,--the former pale and anxious-looking, the latter
with his head buried in his hands. The prisoner nodded with an insolent
air of familiarity to the priest, and muttered a few broken words in
Irish. Again was the terrible demand made by the Judge; and now the
prisoner turned his face towards the bench, and stood as if reflecting
on his reply.

"Go on," cried he at last, in a tone of rude defiance; and the judge,
in all the passionless dignity of his high station, calmly reviewed the
evidence in the case, and gave his full concurrence to the verdict of
the jury.

"I cannot conclude," said he, solemnly, "without adverting to that
extraordinary combination of events by which this crime, after a long
lapse of years, has been brought home to its guilty author. The evidence
you have heard to-day from Mr. Dalton--the singular corroboration of
each particular stated by him in the very existence of the will, which
so strongly refutes the motive alleged against the late Mr. Dalton--were