“You’ve done it now,” said the son of the Master of the Rolls. “They will have in the roof. They were only waiting for a leader.” “With all respect to your school,” said the ex-president heatedly, “this fellow is a disgrace to it, also to his profession. It was the act of a black-guard to throw that at the judge. He is not a gentleman.” “Rough, of course, on the poor old judge, but he’s playing to win, as he always did. Hullo, the poor old boy is coming up to the scratch.” Order had been at last restored, or more correctly had restored itself; and in thin and shaken tones the judge began his summing-up. He had conquered his emotion, and in a perfectly simple, plain, and audible manner he was able to give expression to that which he desired to say. It afforded the keenest relief to the bar, which was so profoundly jealous of professional prestige, that after all the presiding judge should be able to reassert himself sufficiently to invest with a certain dignity his own procedure in his own court. His words were charged with deep feeling, but the most critical among his listeners could discern nothing derogatory to his office in his mode of utterance. “Gentlemen of the jury,” he began; and although the sound of his voice was divested of that roughness and irascibility by which it was known, it yet enchained the attention of his hearers, since intensity of feeling had rendered it singularly harmonious, “Gentlemen of the Jury, before I refer to the details of this terrible case I desire to record my opinion of the manner in which it has been conducted. The counsel for the defence is a young man, and in the nature of things his experience in cases of this kind cannot be extensive. But I would like to affirm that never within my own knowledge has a more remarkable presentation of the art of advocacy come within the purview of this court. Mr. Northcote is a young man, but the display of his genius--I can use no smaller word--which recently he has made, is an honor to human nature. As an old advocate, I tender my sincere congratulations to him, and I hope that the career he has chosen to follow will in every way be worthy of the nobility of his talent.” A murmur of applause greeted this eulogium. It had been rendered with such obvious feeling and delicacy that every word rang true, and touched the chord that was dominant in the hearts of all. “Well done, Bow-wow,” said the fat barrister, sniffing and blowing his nose, “I trust some old pal will stand you a bottle at the Forum this evening.” “That is the English gentleman,” said his companion. “I expect that young cad is feeling rather cheap just at present.” “Expect nothing, dear boy. Who the devil are you that you should expect anything? You could no more have saved that woman from the gallows than you could have jumped across the moon.”