“Really, you know, this is carrying things too far.”
“I would to God,” exclaimed the young advocate, with his voice breaking in the middle in the queerest manner, “you had never retained me at all!”
This outburst of petulance conferred upon the solicitor a renewed sense of the young man’s situation.
“Well, well,” he rejoined, with a certain kindness, “I suppose you must do as you please. A case is not over until a verdict’s brought in. But the witnesses are here—if you change mind.”
The young advocate turned his haggard face and bloodshot eyes upon his monitor, but his rejoinder, whatever its nature, was banished from his lips by the entrance of the judge. Almost in the same instant the prisoner was put up. She was called upon at once to plead to the indictment, “for that she was accused of the wilful murder of Thomas Henry Barron upon the 12th of September.” In a voice that was scarcely audible she pleaded, “I am not guilty.”
The jury was sworn immediately, and justice proceeded on its course with considerable expedition. The case presented no feature that was warranted to arrest the progress of the legal mind. The woman’s guilt was indisputable; it was known that the defence had nothing material to advance; and even had it been placed more fortunately, it was unlikely to be marshalled to advantage in its present hands. The judge and the counsel for the Treasury were at one in their eagerness to press the opportunity of getting the case through, since every few minutes they could rest from the course of the public business was inexpressibly dear to their hearts. They would be able to get off to a week-end in the country by an earlier train.
Mr. Weekes, K. C., who led for the Treasury, commenced briskly and volubly without the delay of a moment. He was a small, thin man, with very straight and attenuated hair, sandy in color, and a pair of side-whiskers. A pair of gold pince-nez suspended by a cord contrived by some means to add to the quickness and irascibility of his frequent gestures. His voice was keen and piercing and somewhat metallic in sound; his language had great facility but no distinction; his delivery was rapid; but manner, diction, appearance, were equally destitute of style.
In opening the case to the jury, this expert occupied less than an hour. He unfolded the nature of the charge in easy, fluent, almost deprecating terms. It amounted to this: the accused, whose reticence in regard to her antecedents was impenetrable, and whose age appeared on the charge-sheet as thirty-nine, had for several years past cohabited with the deceased, who had followed the profession of a book-maker.
It was known that previous to this she had lived the life of the streets. It would be shown by several of her associates, who would be called in evidence—women like herself of ill-fame—that during the last year in which she had lived with this man, she had more than once been heard to express the determination “to do for him.” It would appear that the man, although said to treat her well enough at first, had latterly evinced signs of growing tired of her. Further, he was a man of intemperate habits, and on many occasions she had been heard to complain with bitterness of his violence and brutality towards her.
The accused had been aware that by the man’s will a sum of money had been left to her. She had often, when in drink particularly, to which she also was addicted, mentioned this fact boastfully to her associates; and a few days prior to the commission of the crime had asserted in the presence of three of them, “that if she did not mind what she was about she would lose it, as he was always threatening to leave her.”