mistily; the voice of the usher
calling "Silence!"; the shuffling of the jurymen's feet; the pallor
on their faces as I leant forward and tried to read the verdict on
them; the very smell of the place, compounded of fog, gaol-fever, the
close air, and the dinners eaten earlier in the day by the crowd--all
this strikes home upon me as sharply as it then did, after the numb
apathy of waiting.

As the jury huddled into their places I stole a look at my counsel.
He paused for a moment from his task of trimming a quill, shot a
quick glance at the foreman's face, and then went on cutting as
coolly as ever.

"Gentlemen of the jury"--it was the judge's voice--"are you agreed
upon your verdict?"

"We are."

"Do you find the prisoner guilty or not guilty?"

"_Not guilty_."

It must have been full a minute, as I leant back clutching the rail
in front of me, before I saw anything but the bleared eyes of the
candles, or heard anything but a hoarse murmur from the crowd.
But as soon as the court ceased to heave, and I could stare about me,
I looked towards my counsel again.

He was still shaping his pen. He made no motion to come forward and
shake hands over my acquittal, for which he had worked untiringly all
day. He did not even offer to speak. He just looked up, nodded
carelessly, and turned to his junior beside him; but in that glance I
had read something which turned my heart cold, then sick, within me,
and from that moment my hatred of the man was as deep as hell.

In the fog outside I got clear of the gaping crowd, but the chill of
the night after that heated court pierced my very bones. I had on
the clothes I had been taken in. It was June then, and now it was
late in October. I remember that on the day when they caught me I
wore my coat open for coolness. Four months and a half had gone out
of my life. Well, I had money enough in my pocket to get a
greatcoat; but I must put something warm inside me first, to get out
the chill that cursed lawyer had laid on my heart.

I had purposely chosen the by-lanes of the town, but I remembered a
certain tavern--the "Lamb and Flag"--which lay down a side alley.
Presently the light from its windows struck across the street, ahead.
I pushed open the door and entered.

The small bar was full of people newly come from the court, and
discussing the trial in all its bearings. In the babel I heard a
dozen different opinions given in as many seconds, and learnt enough,