"I struck him," replied the prisoner; "I knocked him down." The court officers below the dais smiled. "I woke and found him spurning me with his foot, and I resented it. I never expected to be a law-breaker. I"-- He pressed his temples between his hands and was silent. The men of the law at his back exchanged glances of approval. The case was, to some extent, interesting. "May it please the court," said the man who had before addressed the prisoner over his shoulder, stepping out on the right and speaking very softly and graciously, "I ask that this man be discharged. His fault seems so much more to be accident than intention, and his suffering so much more than his fault"-- The recorder interrupted by a wave of the hand and a preconceived smile: "Why, according to the evidence, the prisoner was noisy and troublesome in his cell all night." "O sir," exclaimed the prisoner, "I was thrown in with thieves and drunkards! It was unbearable in that hole. We were right on the damp and slimy bricks. The smell was dreadful. A woman in the cell opposite screamed the whole night. One of the men in the cell tried to take my coat from me, and I beat him!" "It seems to me, your honor," said the volunteer advocate, "the prisoner is still more sinned against than sinning. This is evidently his first offence, and"-- "Do you know even that?" asked the recorder. "I do not believe his name can be found on any criminal record. I"-- The recorder interrupted once more. He leaned toward the prisoner. "Did you ever go by any other name?" The prisoner was dumb. "Isn't John Richling the only name you have ever gone by?" said his new friend: but the prisoner silently blushed to the roots of his hair and remained motionless. "I think I shall have to send you to prison," said the recorder, preparing to write. A low groan was the prisoner's only response. "May it please your honor," began the lawyer, taking a step forward; but the recorder waved his pen impatiently. "Why, the more is said the worse his case gets; he's guilty of the offence charged, by his own confession." "I am guilty and not guilty," said the prisoner slowly. "I never intended to be a criminal. I intended to be a good and useful member of society; but I've somehow got under its wheels. I've missed the whole secret of living." He dropped his face into his hands. "O Mary, Mary! why are you my wife?" He beckoned to his counsel. "Come here; come here." His manner was wild and nervous. "I want you--I want you to go to Prieur street, to my wife. You know--you know the place, don't you? Prieur street. Ask for Mrs. Riley"-- "Richling," said the lawyer. "No, no! you ask for Mrs. Riley? Ask her--ask her--oh! where are my senses gone? Ask"-- "May it please the court," said the lawyer, turning once more to the magistrate and drawing a limp handkerchief from the skirt of his dingy alpaca, with a reviving confidence, "I ask that the accused be discharged; he's evidently insane."