dark night. I didn't fasten the door
behind me; there was no lock; it was a latch with a bolt inside, and
when there was nobody in the house I always went out at the shop door.
But I thought there was no danger in leaving it unfastened that little
while. I was longer than I meant to be, for I had to wait for the woman
that came back with me. It was an hour and a half before we got back,
and when we went in, the candle was standing burning just as I left it,
but the prisoner and the baby were both gone. She'd taken her cloak and
bonnet, but she'd left the basket and the things in it....I was
dreadful frightened, and angry with her for going. I didn't go to give
information, because I'd no thought she meant to do any harm, and I knew
she had money in her pocket to buy her food and lodging. I didn't like
to set the constable after her, for she'd a right to go from me if she
liked."

The effect of this evidence on Adam was electrical; it gave him new
force. Hetty could not be guilty of the crime--her heart must have clung
to her baby--else why should she have taken it with her? She might have
left it behind. The little creature had died naturally, and then she
had hidden it. Babies were so liable to death--and there might be
the strongest suspicions without any proof of guilt. His mind was so
occupied with imaginary arguments against such suspicions, that he
could not listen to the cross-examination by Hetty's counsel, who tried,
without result, to elicit evidence that the prisoner had shown some
movements of maternal affection towards the child. The whole time this
witness was being examined, Hetty had stood as motionless as before: no
word seemed to arrest her ear. But the sound of the next witness's
voice touched a chord that was still sensitive, she gave a start and a
frightened look towards him, but immediately turned away her head and
looked down at her hands as before. This witness was a man, a rough
peasant. He said:

"My name is John Olding. I am a labourer, and live at Tedd's Hole, two
miles out of Stoniton. A week last Monday, towards one o'clock in the
afternoon, I was going towards Hetton Coppice, and about a quarter of a
mile from the coppice I saw the prisoner, in a red cloak, sitting under
a bit of a haystack not far off the stile. She got up when she saw me,
and seemed as if she'd be walking on the other way. It was a regular
road through the fields, and nothing very uncommon to see a young woman
there, b