Faradeane stood apparently unmoved, his hand resting without a tremor upon the front of the dock, his eyes fixed upon the ground.
At last Mr. Sewell said: “This is our case, my lord.”
Mr. Edgar rose, and squaring his shoulders as a man does who is facing a more than ordinarily difficult task, said:
“My lord and gentlemen of the jury: I know that I have no need to ask your indulgence. I know that I need not point out to you how terrible is the responsibility which rests upon my shoulders. With you lies the verdict, but with me lies the awful responsibility of so pleading for the life of the prisoner at the bar that no chance, however slight, shall escape my notice. I am aware that expressions of belief in the innocence or guilt of a client made by a counsel can have but little weight; but, gentlemen, I feel that I must tell you that if there should be any shortcomings in my pleading on this man’s behalf, such shortcomings will not arise from any doubt of his innocence.
“I stand here to fight for his life, and if I needed any spur beyond that of a sense of duty, I should find it in the thorough belief which I entertain of his innocence, and that notwithstanding that he has, for reasons of which I am not afraid to state I am ignorant, seen fit in the first instance to plead guilty.
“Gentlemen of the jury, you have heard from the eloquent lips of the counsel for the prosecution the story of my client’s life. You have heard how, in a moment of unreasoning passion, he, the bearer of a high and noble name, married an ignorant and low-born gypsy girl.
“Now, mark, gentlemen of the jury, this man who is accused of this crime. He did not—as, alas! too many men of his position have done—take advantage of the lowliness of this girl, use her as a toy, and as a toy tired of, throw her away; but, remembering his noble name and all that belonged to it, he married her.
“Is that consistent with the story, gentlemen, of the prosecution? But let me proceed. Having soon after this marriage discovered the character of the woman he had made his wife; having found to his cost that he had committed a folly which must mar his life, what does he do?
“Most men, as my learned friend truly said, would have rid themselves of what had become an unbearable burden But Lord Clydesfold, the prisoner, does not do this. Rather than drag the honored name of his forefathers in the mud, he elects to leave this woman, to drop the name which he had given her, and, providing for her every want—ay, and luxury—he separates from her, bargaining only that she shall leave him in peace.
“I ask you, gentlemen, is this consistent with the guilt which the prosecution lays to his charge? Under this assumed name my client seeks refuge in this secluded spot. He does not dash into a life of dissipation, he does not seek forgetfulness in a reckless course of living, but he comes here, and for months leads the life of a student and of a gentleman.