The prisoner looked up, shivered, and dropped his head upon his clasped hands again.
The dead silence of breathless expectation in the court-room was now broken by the solemn voice of the Clerk of Arraigns, inquiring, in measured tones:
"Gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon your verdict?"
"We have," answered the foreman, a jolly, red-headed, round bodied Banff baker.
"Prisoner at the bar, stand up and look upon the jury," ordered the clerk.
The poor, abject, and terrified wretch tottered to his feet and stood, pallid, shaking, and grasping the front rails of the dock for support.
"Gentlemen of the jury, look upon the prisoner. How say you, is the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty of the felony herewith he stands charged?" demanded the clerk.
"We find the charge against the prisoner to be—Not Proven," answered the foreman, speaking for the whole in a strong, distinct voice, that was heard all over the court-room. [A]
On hearing the verdict which saved him from death, even if it did not vindicate him, John Potts let go the rails of the dock and fell back in his chair in a half-fainting condition.
"The prisoner is discharged from custody. The Court is adjourned," said the presiding baron, rising and leaving his seat.