aid the foreman, "that is your opinion; you
agree with Mr. Quittenden. Now then, what say you, Mr. Wrist?"

The juryman addressed was a stout and heavy man. He stretched his
short legs, seated himself in his chair, and after a long pause
said, "I don't know as I care particular, as far as I'm concerned.
But it's better in my opinion to hang her, even if innocent, than
let her off. It's setting an example, a fine one, to the wimen. I
agree with Mr. Quittenden, and say--guilty. 'Ang 'er.'

"Now then, Mr. Sanson."

"I," answered a timid little apothecary, "I wouldn't wish to differ
from any one. I had rather you passed me over now, and just asked
the rest. Then I'll fall in with the general division."

"Very well, then--and you, Mr. Sniggins."

"I am rayther hard of hearing," answered that gentleman, "and I
didn't catch all that was said in evidence, and then I had a bad
night. I'd taken some lobster last evening, and it didn't agree
with me, and I couldn't sleep, and it was rayther hot in the court,
and I just closed my eyes now and again, and what with being hard
of hearing and closing my eyes, I'm not very well up in the case,
but I say--guilty. 'Ang 'er."

"And you, Mr.--I beg your pardon, I did not catch your name."

"Verstage."

"Not a Kingston gent?"

"Oh, no, from Guildford,"

"What say you, sir?"

"I--emphatically, not guilty." Iver threw himself back in his
chair, extended his legs, and thrust his hands into his trouser
pockets. "The whole thing is rank nonsense. How could a woman with
a baby in her arms knock a man down? You try, gents, any one of
you--take your last born, and whilst nursing it, attempt to pull
your wife's nose. You can't do it. The thing is obvious." He looked
round with assurance. "The man was a curmudgeon. He misused her.
He was in bad circumstances through the failure of the Wealden
Bank. He wanted money, and the child had just had a fortune left
it--something a little under two hundred pounds."

"How do you know that?" asked the foreman. "That didn't come out
in evidence."

"P'raps you shut your ears, as Mr. Sniggins shut his peepers.
P'raps it came out, p'raps it didn't. But it's true all the same.
And the fellow wanted the money. Matabel--I mean the prisoner at
the bar thought--rightly or wrongly matters not--that he wished
for the death of his child, and she ran away. She was not crazy;
she was resolved to protect her child. She swore that she would
defend it. That Gil