"Besides," said the prisoner, "I hope that few of the innocent are really condemned, even if many of the guilty do not escape."
"Multitudes are condemned every day," replied his visitor. "I saw a woman condemned some time ago, a woman in a high rank of life, for stealing in a shop. She had taken up something off a counter, and carried it away with her. It was in vain that her habits, her station, her previous character, her fortune, the very money in her purse at the moment, were brought forward to prove the improbability of her filching a toy worth half a crown; the jury condemned her as a lady thief, and probably would have been hooted had they not done so. And yet the very same accident which sent her into a court of justice, occurred to me not ten days ago in London. I went into an inn where I am well known, with my mind full of anxious thoughts, and sent up to see if a gentleman I wished to speak with was at home, while I remained in the coffee-room. I had an umbrella under my arm. There was another lying on the table near which I stood. I found that the person I asked for was out; and, without thought, I took up the second umbrella, and walked away with it. The waiter did not remark what I was doing, and I had got to the end of two streets, when, to my horror and consternation, I found that I had one umbrella in my hand and another under my arm. It is a fact, I can assure you. I carried the umbrella back instantly, and found the whole house being hunted for it. 'Remember, my good friend,' I said to the waiter, 'if ever you are on a jury where no sufficient motive can be assigned for an offence, that it is well to doubt before you condemn.'"
"And what did he reply?" asked Chandos.
"'Very well, Sir.--Number six ringing his bell!'" said the old officer; "and if the next day he had been on a jury with a lady-thief case, he would have found the prisoner 'guilty,' and forgotten the umbrella."
"I am afraid, then," said Chandos, thoughtfully, "there is very little chance of my being acquitted."
"That does not exactly follow," replied General Tracy. "But you bring me back to the subject from which I have wandered wide. I trust there is no chance of your being found guilty; for I feel perfectly convinced of your innocence myself. You could have no motive for killing your brother's steward."
"Who was always attached to me from my youth," added Chandos; "and for whom I ever felt a sincere regard and affection. I wrote him a letter, indeed, in somewhat cold and formal terms, in regard to his having opened the drawers in some rooms, the whole contents of which were left by my father to myself without any reservation; but I did so because I thought that he had made the examination of which I complained by the orders of another. I also wished to render the letter such as he could show, in case of need, as a demand on my part, that whatever documents were found in those rooms should be safely preserved for me. This is the only matter in which human ingenuity can find the shadow of motive for such an act as I am charged with."
"That will not prove basis sufficient for their accusation," said General Tracy; "and doubtless, my young friend, if you are well defended, the whole case against you will fall to the ground. But let me ask you, if you have taken any means to ensure that good counsel shall be retained on your behalf."
"The best in the land," answered Chandos Winslow: "Sir ****, left me a short time before you were kind enough to come to see me."
"That was, of course, at your brother's request," said the old officer.