into the court. He whispered a word to an
officer, who admitted them, and pointed to a
seat behind the dock, where they were
screened from observation, and where the
woman could see her husband standing
between his two fellow-prisoners.

The prisoners were listening anxiously
to the evidence which the principal game-
keeper was offering against them. The
first, a man about sixty, excited greater
interest than the others. He earnestly
attended to what was going on, but gave no
sign of fear, as to the result. Brushing back
his grey locks, he gazed round the court, with
something like a smile. This man's life had
been a strange one. Early in his career he
had been ejected from a farm which he had
held under the father of the present prosecutor,
Sir George Roberts; he soon after lost
what little property had been left him. and, in
despair, enlisted—was sent abroad with his
regiment—and for many years shared in the
toils and achievements of our East Indian
warfare. Returning home on a small pension,
he fixed his abode in his native village, and
sought to indulge his old enmity against the
family that had injured him by every kind of
annoyance in his power. The present baronet,
a narrow-minded tyrannical man, afforded by
his unpopularity good opportunity to old
Ralph Somers to induce others to join him in
his schemes of mischief and revenge. "The
game," which was plentiful on the estate, and
the preservation of which was Sir George's
chief delight, formed the principal object
of attack; the poverty of the labourers
tempted them to follow the old soldier, who
managed affairs so warily, that for nine years
he had been an object of the utmost terror
and hatred to Sir George and his keepers,
whilst all their efforts to detect and capture
him had, until now, been fruitless.

Martin Harvey, who stood by his side with
his shattered arm in a sling, bore marks of
acute mental suffering and remorse; but his
countenance was stamped with its original,
open, manly expression—a face often to be
seen among a group of English farm labourers,
expressive of a warm heart, full of both
courage and kindness.

The evidence was soon given. The game-
keepers, on the night of the 24th of February,
were apprised that poachers were in the
plantations. Taking with them a stronger force
than usual, all well armed, they discovered
the objects of their search, in a lane leading
out into the fields, and shouted to them to
surrender. They distinctly saw their figures
flying before them, and when they approached
them, one of the fugitives turned round and
fired, wounding one of the keepers' legs with
a quantity of small shot. The keeper
immediately fired in return, and brought down
a poacher; old Ralph's voice was heard
shouting to them to desist, and upon coming
up they found him standing by the side of
Martin Harvey, who had fallen severely
wounded. Three guns lay by them, one of
which had been discharged, but no one could
swear who had fired it; search was made all
night for the other man, but without success.

When the prisoners were called on for their
defence, they looked at one another for a
moment as if neither wished to speak first.
Ralph, however, began. He had little to say.
Casting a look of defiance at Sir George and
his lady, who sat in a side gallery above the
court, he freely confessed that hatred to the
man who had injured him in his youth, and
who had treated him with harshness on his
return from abroad, had been the motive of his
encouraging and aiding in these midnight
depredations; he expressed sorrow for having
occasioned trouble to his neighbour Harvey.
—"What I can say will be of little use to me
here," said Martin Harvey, in a hollow voice;
"I am ruined beyond redress; but I was a
very poor man when I first joined, with others,
in snaring game; I often wanted bread, and
saw my wife and child pinched for food also.
The rich people say game belongs to them; but
—well—all I can say more is, that I take God to
witness I never lifted a murderous gun against
my fellow man; he who did it has escaped;
and I have suffered this broken limb—but
that I don't mind—I have worse than that to
bear I have broken my wife's heart, and my
child will be left an orphan."

His voice failed. There was an uneasy
movement among the audience; and a lady,
who had been leaning over the rails of the
side gallery listening with deep attention,
fainted, and was carried out of court. The
prisoner's pale wife, who had bowed her head
behind him in silent endurance, heard a
whisper among the bystanders that it was
Lady Roberts, and a hope entered her mind
that the lady's tender heart might feel for
them.

"Have you any witnesses to call? " asked
the Judge.

Martin looked round with a vacant gaze;
the attorney whispered to him, and beckoned
to Alfred Gray.

Alfred went into the witness-box, and told
of the honesty, sobriety, and good conduct of
Martin Harvey, during all the years he was
in his father's house—"He was there before
I was born," said the young man, "and only
left when I was obliged to leave also, sixteen
years after. A better man never broke bread
—he was beloved by every body who knew
him. Till now, his character was never tainted.
It's the one black spot."

The Judge commenced summing up; it was
evident to all who had paid attention to the
evidence, that the conviction of two of the
prisoners was certain. Alfred Gray knew
this, and strove to induce the wife to leave
with him before the fatal close of proceedings;
but she shook her head and would not go.
"I shall have strength to bear it," she said.

He sat down by her side, and heard the
fearful verdict of "guilty" pronounced against