He had lost his position in the world already; he had lost his
sweetheart, for they had all heard that day that she was about to be
driven into wedlock with his rival, a man twice his age and hers; he had
lost the protection of his father--his own flesh and blood--for since
this miserable occurrence he had chosen to disown him; and yet here was
the prosecutor, who had lost nothing (except his own self-respect, and
the respect of all who had listened to his audacious testimony that
morning), pressing for a conviction, for more punishment; in a word, for
the gratification of a mean revenge. If he (Mr. Balais) had nothing
more, therefore, to urge in his client's defense, he would have been
content to leave the jury to deal with this case--Englishmen, who
detested oppression, and loved that justice only which is tempered with
mercy. But as it so happened, there was no need thus to leave it; no
necessity to appeal to mercy at all. He had only to ask them for the
barest justice. He was happily in a position to prove that the prisoner
at the bar had no more stolen this two thousand pounds than their own
upright and sagacious foreman.
A sigh of relief was uttered from a hundred gentle breasts. "We are
coming to something at last," it seemed to say. A hundred fair faces
looked at Mr.
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