did not vacate his seat. We
must all come to it sooner or later, I suppose, but the question is
whether we could do better than an annuity of L2,000 a year on the
life of the lady. Office isn't very permanent, but one has not to
attend the House above six months a year, while you can't get away
from a wife much above a week at a time. It has crippled him in
appearance very much, I think."
"A man always looks changed when he's married."
"I hope, Mr. Finn, that you owe me no grudge," said Sir Gregory, the
Attorney-General.
"Not in the least; why should I?"
"It was a very painful duty that I had to perform,--the most painful
that ever befel me. I had no alternative but to do it, of course, and
to do it in the hope of reaching the truth. But a counsel for the
prosecution must always appear to the accused and his friends like a
hound running down his game, and anxious for blood. The habitual and
almost necessary acrimony of the defence creates acrimony in the
attack. If you were accustomed as I am to criminal courts you would
observe this constantly. A gentleman gets up and declares in perfect
faith that he is simply anxious to lay before the jury such evidence
as has been placed in his hands. And he opens his case in that
spirit. Then his witnesses are cross-examined with the affected
incredulity and assumed indignation which the defending counsel is
almost bound to use on behalf of his client, and he finds himself
gradually imbued with pugnacity. He becomes strenuous, energetic, and
perhaps eager for what must after all be regarded as success, and at
last he fights for a verdict rather than for the truth."
"The judge, I suppose, ought to put all that right?"
"So he does;--and it comes right. Our criminal practice does not sin
on the side of severity. But a barrister employed on the prosecution
should keep himself free from that personal desire for a verdict
which must animate those engaged on the defence."
"Then I suppose you wanted to--hang me, Sir Gregory."
"Certainly not. I wanted the truth. But you in your position must
have regarded me as a bloodhound."
"I did not. As far as I can analyse my own feelings, I entertained
anger only against those who, though they knew me well, thought that
I was guilty."
"You will allow me, at any rate, to shake hands with you," said Sir
Gregory, "and to assure you that I should have lived a broken-hearted
man if the truth had been known too late. As it is I tremb
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