“What creatures women are!” said Linton, holding up his hands. “And how are they betting? What says Frobisher?”
“He affects to think it no case for odds; he says there 's a little fellow in the jury-box never was known to say 'Guilty.'”
“A scheme to win money,—a stale trick, my Lord Charles!” muttered Linton, contemptuously; “but I've no objection to hedge a little, for all that.”
“I must be going,” said Jones, looking at his watch; “the charge will soon be over, and I must look to the proceedings.”
“Will they be long in deliberation, think you?” asked Linton.
“I suspect not; they are all weary and tired. It is now ten o'clock.”
“I thought it later,” said Linton, thoughtfully; “time lags heavily with him whose mind is in expectancy. Hark! there is some one below talking of the trial! What says he?”
“He speaks of Cashel as still addressing the Court. Can they have consented to hear him, after all?”
A fearful curse broke from Linton, and he closed the door noiselessly.
“See to this, Jones; see to it speedily. My mind misgives me that something will go wrong.”