“Well said, old boy!” muttered Frobisher to himself. “My odds are looking up again.”
“In that case, my Lord, we must retire again,” said the foreman; and the jury once more quitted the court, whose occupants at once resumed all the lounging attitudes from which the late scene had aroused them. Exhaustion, indeed, had overcome all save the prisoner himself, who paced the narrow limits of the dock with slow and noiseless steps, raising his head at intervals, to watch the gallery where the jury were to appear.
In less than half an hour the creaking of a door awoke the drowsy court, and the jury were seen re-entering the box. They continued to talk among each other as they took their seats, and seemed like men still under the influence of warm discussion.
“Not agreed!” muttered Frobisher, looking at his book. “I stand to win, even on that.”
To the formal question of the Court, the foreman for an instant made no reply, for he was still in eager conversation with another juror.
“How say you, gentlemen of the jury? Are you agreed?”
“We are, my Lord,” said the foreman; “that is to say, some of the jury have conceded to the rest for the sake of a verdict.”
“This does not seem to me like agreement,” interposed the judge. “If you be not of the same mind, it will be your duty to retire once more, and strive by the use of argument and reason to bring the minority to your opinion; or, in failure of such result, to avow that you are not like-minded.”
“We have done all that is possible in that respect, my Lord; and we beg you will receive our verdict.”
“If it be your verdict, gentlemen,” said the judge, “I desire nothing more.”