Before she began to speak, she fixed in turn the judges, plaintiff, and public, with an insolent scornful stare. Then, in her deep, almost masculine voice, she began: "You've asked me a question to which you know the answer well enough, else I shouldn't be standing here now. Yes, I murdered Gibberty--and a good riddance too. I was for killing him with the sap of osiers, but the fellow you call Endymion Leer, who was always a squeamish, tenderhearted, sort of chap (if there was nothing to lose by it, that's to say) got me the death-berries and made me give them to him in a jelly, instead of the osiers." (It was a pity Master Nathaniel was not there to glory in his own acumen!) "And it was not only because they caused a painless death that he preferred the berries. He had never before seen them at their work, and he was always a death-fancier--tasting, and smelling, and fingering death, like a farmer does samples of grain at market. Though, to give him his due, if it hadn't been for him, that girl over there who has just been standing up to denounce him and me" (and she nodded in the direction of the pale, trembling, Hazel) "and her father before her would long ago have gone the way of the farmer. And this I say in the hope that the wench's conscience may keep her awake sometimes in the nights to come, remembering how she dealt with the man who had saved her life. It will be but a small prick, doubtless; but it is the last that I can give her. "And now, good people, here's a word of advice to you, before I go my last ride, a pillion to my old friend Endymion Leer. Never you make a pet of a dead man. For the dead are dirty curs and bite the hand that has fed them;" and with an evil smile she climbed down from the pulpit, while more than one person in the audience felt faint with horror and would willingly have left the hall. There was nothing left but for Master Polydore to pronounce the sentence; and though the accused had stolen some of his thunder, nevertheless the solemn time-honoured words did not fail to produce their wonted thrill: "Endymion Leer and Clementina Gibberty, I find you guilty of murder, and I consign your bodies to the birds, and your souls to whence they came. And may all here present take example from your fate, correcting their conduct if it needs correction, or, if it be impeccable, keeping it so. For every tree can be a gallows, and every man has a neck to hang." The widow received her sentence with complete stolidity; Endymion Leer with a scornful smile. But as it was pronounced there was a stir and confusion at the back of the hall, and a grotesque frenzied figure broke loose from the detaining grip of her neighbours, and, struggling up to the dais, flung herself at the feet of Master Polydore. It was Miss Primrose Crabapple.