had seemed so complete and so conclusive as it
was spread forth before them must give place to
proofs yet more complete and more conclusive,
and that it was only to show how irresistible were
these last that this wise gentleman had dwelt so
long on the strength of those which they were
to supersede. If the first arguments were
strong, what must be the strength of those
which could overpower them?

For, in his judgment, he said, this evidence
for the defence was evidence against which no
opposition could stand. It was a strange case.
The facts which had been proved in support of
the defence in no way disproved those which
were put forward by the prosecution. Both
these sets of facts were facts. Those which
were stated in the first instance as proving the
guilt of the accused might legitimately cause
suspicion to attach to her in an extraordinary
degree. It was not wonderful that suspicion
should have attached to her while only those
facts were known. There was, however, this
difference between the evidence for the
prosecution and the evidence for the defence. The
evidence for the prosecution would lead the jury
to suspect how the deceased lady had died—but
the evidence for the defence had done more, it
had brought them to know how she died. That
was the difference, and it was a great one.

From that moment—from the moment when
these meaning words were spoken—a change
seemed to come over the proceedings in court.
All seemed to wear a different aspect. It is
hardly too much to say that at that moment a
tide turned in the affairs of Gilbert and Gabrielle
Penmore. Those who were well versed in what
takes place in law courts, and who knew, by
long experience, much about judges and juries,
whispered each other that the summing-up was
all in favour of the accused, and that the trial
was virtually over. And so indeed it was.
From point to point the judge went on examining
the evidence, showing how clear it was in
all things; how evident that the deceased lady
had for some time been in the habit of swallowing
certain quantities of opium; how, having
commenced the practice under the desire to
alleviate pain, and continued it, as many had
done before her, because of the pleasurable
sensations which the use of the drug imparted,
she had probably taken at last a larger dose
than usual, and this, acting on a constitution
especially liable to the evil influence of opium,
had killed her. This was what the counsel for
the defence had already told them, and in doing
so had only acted as the evidence which he had
laid before them had justified him in doing.

Yes, the initiated ones were right; the trial
was virtually over. As the judge went on, he
seemed to carry the mass of his listeners with
him. A great measure of excitement was astir
in the place, though it could not be said in what
way it was shown. Outward decency was
maintained by all; but it may have been that all
drew their breath harder than was their use,
that heads were pressed more eagerly forward,
and that there was some swaying and movement
from side to side of this great crowd of
sympathising human beings. Then there would be a
sort of rustling and stir among them, which
would express much, and now and again one of
the multitude would whisper a hurried word
into a neighbour's ear.

"Virtually over," "Summing up all favourable."
There could be no doubt of it. The judge
paused, it is true, to censure the ease and readiness
with which Cornelius Vampi had allowed
himself to be persuaded into selling laudanum
to the deceased; he did not shrink either from
expressing his regret at finding that follies, so
long ago exploded as a belief in magic and the
influences of the stars, should still have attractions
for sane and even educated men; but he
in no respect considered that such perversion of
judgment rendered those in whom it existed
unfit to give evidence as to facts with which
they had been mixed up. The evidence given,
the testimony borne by Cornelius Vampi, and
by the gentleman who seemed to be his disciple,
was clear and consistent throughout. It was
in no respect shaken by the severe and searching
cross-examination which each of those
witnesses had had to sustain, and it was as worthy
of belief, and as convincing in all respects, as
any that he, the judge, had ever heard in a court
of justice.

"Virtually over." From the moment when
the old judge had passed from the consideration
of the evidence for the prosecution to a review
of that offered for the defence, from the moment
when he had stated openly that the testimony
brought forward to support the prosecution,
taught men to SUSPECT how Diana Carrington
had died, but that the evidence for the defence
taught them to KNOW how she had died, from
that moment the trial was, to all intents and
purposes, over; and with every additional word
of that long summing-up, the nature of the
verdict which must follow it became only more
and more certain, till at last the very barriers
and restraints that held Gabrielle Penmore
prisoner seemed actually to drop away from her
as the old man spoke, and leave her free and
unshackled.

The faces of men and women in the court
wore an altered expression now; their attitude,
so to speak, was more easy, their breath came
more freely, as if the verdict were already given.
Nay, the report that all was going well got
beyond the limits of the court, and was carried
to the very people in the street outside; and
when at last the accents of the judge, which
had latterly sunk very low, ceased altogether,
when the jury, hardly waiting to be questioned,
without retiring, almost without a word of
consultation together, returned their verdict of
"Not guilty," no one in court but felt that
the words were a mere form, necessary indeed
to be uttered, yet only dealing with a happy
but foregone conclusion.

The tumult which followed this announcement
that the troubles of Gabrielle were at an end,
and that the cloud which had hung over her was
in a moment dispelled, was not to be repressed.
Even in the awful precincts of a court of justice
it was impossible, for the moment, to restrain