“‘Dost thou say it? Dost thou say it? I never knew thee to lie to me, Adam!’ said his father eagerly, half rising, from the stool on which he sate. ‘Dost thou say this before God, whom thou art only too likely,’ he shuddered, ‘to see, after next Assizes, face to face?’ “‘Ay, I do, father,’ replied his son, fixing his eyes solemnly and steadily on those of his father, who slowly rose and placed his trembling arms around his son, and embraced him in silence: ‘How is Sarah?’ faltered the prisoner, faintly. “‘Ask me not, Adam,’ said the old man; who quickly added, perceiving the sudden agitation of his son, ‘but she is not dead; she hath been kindly cared for.’ “‘And the lad?’ said the prisoner, still more faintly. “‘He is well,’ said the old man; and the prisoner shook his head in silence, the tears running down his cheeks through closed eyelids.” There is another too, who, in spite of the circumstances which carry conviction to the minds of others, is morally certain of the innocence of Adam Ayliffe. At the beginning of the narrative we are informed that, “as father and son would stand suddenly uncovered, while the reverend vicar passed or met them on his way into the church, his heart yearned towards them both: he thoroughly loved and respected them, and was in a certain way proud of two such specimens of the English yeoman; and, above all, charmed with the good example which they set to all his other parishioners. Now the vicar had from Adam’s boyhood entertained a liking for him, and had personally bestowed no inconsiderable pains upon his education, which though plain, as suited his position, was yet sound and substantial.” This vicar trusted the manhood of the blood-guiltless Adam as he had affectionately attached himself to his youth. To suppose him guilty of the crime was to have implicit faith in circumstantial evidence, treacherous and deceitful at the best, and to spurn the actual knowledge gained from the decided tenor of a life which could NOT speak false. Adam Ayliffe could not become a murderer and still be Adam Ayliffe. He was himself, rational and sane; he was therefore guiltless. So argued the minister of God: so must the good and pious always argue, similarly placed. A world in arms against the miserable prisoner would not have moved the vicar from his strong conviction, or frightened him from the prisoner’s side. Providence, the just, so willed it!