Struggling violently, Philippa was dragged away by the minions of the law.
I notice one visitor turn round, and gaze at the commotion.
It is Mrs. Thompson, the Bearded Woman.
Silence has scarcely been restored, when it is again broken.
A manly form rises. A deep voice exclaims:—
‘My lord, the prisoner is innocent. I am the person whom he is said to have murdered.’
The form, the voice—it is Sir Runan Errand!
Again I hear the sharp accents of Mr. Justice Juggins.
‘Is this court a bear-garden or the House of Commons? Take that man out. Give him five years and two dozen lashes.’
Scarcely had the court resumed its wonted aspect of business, scarcely had the prisoner again been asked to plead, when a shrill voice shattered the stillness.