Your father's words were brief and formal; but you will imagine how they fell on one ear at least. "My name is William Henry Johnston, clerk, of Rockmount, Surrey. Henry Johnston, who--died--on the night of November 19th, 1836, was my only son. I know the prisoner at the bar. I knew him for some time before he was aware whose father I was, or I had any suspicion that my son came to his death in any other way than by accident." "Was your first discovery of these painful facts by the prisoner's present confession?" "No, my lord." Your father hesitated, but only momentarily. "He told me the whole story, himself, a year ago, under circumstances that would have induced most men to conceal it for ever." The judge inquired why was not this confession made public at once? "Because I was afraid. I did not wish to make my family history a by-word and a scandal. I exacted a promise that the secret should be kept inviolate. This promise he has broken--but I blame him not. It ought never to have been made." "Certainly not. It was thwarting the purposes of justice and of the law." "My lord, I am an old man, and a clergyman; I know nothing about the law; but I know it was a wrong act to bind any man's conscience to live a perpetual lie." Your father was here asked if he had any thing more to say? "A word only. In the prisoner's confession, he has, out of delicacy to me, omitted three facts, which weigh materially in extenuation of his crime. When he committed it he was only nineteen, and my son was thirty. He was drunk, and my son, who led an irregular life, had made him so, and afterwards taunted him, more than a youth of nineteen was likely to bear. Such was his statement to me, and knowing his character and my son's, I have little doubt of its perfect accuracy." The judge looked up for his notes. "You seem, sir, strange to say, to be not unfavourable towards the prisoner." "I am just towards the prisoner. I wish to be, even though he has on his hands the blood of my only son." After the pause which followed, the judge said:-- "Mr. Johnston:--the Court respects your feelings, and regrets to detain you longer or put you to any additional pain. But it may materially aid the decision of this very peculiar case, if you will answer another question. You are aware that, all other evidence being wanting, the prisoner can only be judged by his own confession. Do you believe, on your oath, that this confession is true?" "I do. I am bound to say from my intimate knowledge of the prisoner, that I believe him to be now, whatever he may have been in his youth, a man of sterling honour and unblemished life; one who would not tell a lie to save himself from the scaffold." "The Court is satisfied." But before he sat down, your father turned, and, for the first time that day, he and I were face to face. "I am a clergyman, as I said, and I never was in a court of justice before. Is it illegal for me to address a few words to the prisoner?"