_Prisoner_ (with apparent carelessness). At all events, you are a virtuous woman, Mrs. Ryder? _Ryder._ Yes, madam, as virtuous as yourself, to say the least. _Prisoner_ (still more carelessly). Married or single? _Ryder._ Single, and like to be. _Prisoner._ Yes, if I remember right, I made a point of that before I engaged you as my maid. _Ryder._ I believe the question was put. _Prisoner._ Here is the answer in your handwriting. Is not that your handwriting? _Ryder_ (after inspecting it). It is. _Prisoner._ You came highly recommended by your last mistress, a certain Mrs. Hamilton. Here is her letter, describing you as a model. _Ryder._ Well, madam, hitherto I have given satisfaction to all my mistresses, Mrs. Hamilton among the rest. My character does not rest on her word only, I hope. _Prisoner._ Excuse me; I engaged, you on her word alone. Now, who is this Mrs. Hamilton? _Ryder._ A worshipful lady I served for eight months before I came to you. She went abroad, or I should be with her now. _Prisoner._ Now cast your eye over this paper. It was the copy of a marriage certificate between Thomas Edwards and Caroline Plunkett. "Who is this Caroline Plunkett?" Ryder turned very pale, and made no reply. "I ask you who is this Caroline Plunkett?" _Ryder_ (faintly). Myself. _The Judge._ Why, you said you were single! _Ryder._ So I am; as good as single. My husband and me we parted eight years ago, and I have never seen him since. _Prisoner._ Was it quite eight years ago? _Ryder._ Nearly, 'twas in May, 1739. _Prisoner._ Put you have lived with him since. _Ryder._ Never, upon my soul. _Prisoner._ When was your child born? _Ryder._ My child! I have none. _Prisoner._ In January, 1743, you left a baby at Biggleswade, with a woman called Church--did you not? _Ryder_ (panting). Of course I did. It was my sister's. _Prisoner._ Do you mean to call God to witness that child was not yours? Ryder hesitated. _Prisoner._ Will you swear Mrs. Church did not see you nurse that child in secret, and weep over it? At this question the perspiration stood visible on Ryder's brow, her checks were ghastly, and her black eyes roved like some wild animal's round the court. She saw her own danger, and had no means of measuring her inquisitor's information. "My lord, have pity on me. I was betrayed, abandoned. Why am I so tormented? I have not committed murder." So, catlike, she squealed and scratched at once. _Prisoner._ What! to swear away an innocent life, is not that murder? _The Judge._ Prisoner, we make allowances for your sex, and your peril, but you must not remark on the evidence at present. Examine as severely as you will, but abstain from comment till you address the jury on your defense. _Sergeant Wiltshire._ My lord, I submit that this line of examination is barbarous, and travels out of the case entirely.