It was seven o'clock when the Judge finished his summing-up, and the jury retired. His lordship did not leave the court, but listened to an application relating to a civil cause which was to be heard at the next town. Everybody seemed to turn to this matter with relief; and small noises--coughs and fidgetings--began to be audible again. But Mr. Williams rose and went out noiselessly, soon to return. This time he brought something from somewhere, and held it hidden beneath the Bench. The jury came back, and the little noises were all hushed. "How say you--Guilty or Not Guilty?" "Guilty," the foreman answered. "But we wish to recommend him to mercy, my lord, in view of his great provocation." The prisoner's eyes turned slowly from the foreman to the Judge. Mr. Williams slid what he had brought--the square of black cloth--into the Marshal's hand, and, under the Bench still, the Marshal gave it to the Judge. The prisoner only shook his head in answer to the Clerk of Assize's question whether he had any reason why the Court should not pronounce sentence, and in due form sentence followed. The Judge delivered it in low and very gentle tones, with a high compassion. "The Jury's recommendation will receive the fullest consideration, but I may not bid you hope for mercy, save for that Mercy for which everyone of us equally must pray." At the end the condemned man made a little bow to the Court, awkward but not without a pathetic dignity. "Thank you, my lord," he said with respectful simplicity. Then he was led downstairs, and the black square travelled back on its hidden way to Mr. Williams' custody. Mr. Williams stowed it in some invisible place, and issued his summons to all and sundry to attend again at half-past ten on the morrow. The Court rose; the work of the day was ended. It remained only for the Marshal to write to His Majesty's Principal Secretary of State for the Home Department, apprising him that Sentence of Death had been passed and that the Judge's notes would be sent to him without delay. His Lordship, the Sheriff, and the Chaplain passed out to the State carriage, attended by the Javelin-men. "Do you think he's got any chance, my lord?" asked the High Sheriff, as they drove to the Judge's lodgings. "Yes, Sir Quintin, an off-chance, I should say. In fact I think I shall help him, as far as I can--that's between ourselves, of course. He didn't seem to me a bad sort of man, but--" He smiled faintly--"very primitive! And the poor wretch of a woman certainly didn't let him down easy." "I should like to have seen the other man in the dock beside him, my lord," said the Chaplain. "Oh, well, Chaplain, he wasn't bound to anticipate murder, was he? As it is, he's thought it prudent to get out of the country--at some loss and inconvenience, no doubt; this man's friends were after him. But for that we should have had him here to-day." "He wouldn't have been popular," the High Sheriff opined, with a shake of his glossy head.