“Why not,” asked Linton, “if he should be found guilty?” “They say, sir, the gentlemen can always pay for another man to be hanged instead of them. Musha, maybe 'tis n't true,” added he, diffidently, as he saw the smile on Linton's face. “I think you 'll find that the right man will suffer in this case,” said Linton; and a gleam of malignant passion shot from his dark eyes as he spoke. CHAPTER XXIX. THE TRIAL--THE PROSECUTION As I listened I thought myself guilty. --Warren Hastings. For several days before that appointed for the trial of Roland Cashel, the assize town was crowded with visitors from every part of the island. Not a house, not a room was unoccupied, so intense was the interest to witness a cause into which so many elements of exciting story entered. His great wealth, his boundless extravagance, the singular character of his early life, gave rise to a hundred curious anecdotes, which the press circulated with a most unscrupulous freedom. Nor did public curiosity stop at the walls of the prison; for every detail of his life, since the day of his committal, was carefully recorded by the papers. The unbroken solitude in which he lived; the apparent calm collectedness in which he awaited his trial; his resolute refusal to employ legal assistance; his seeming indifference to the alleged clews to the discovery of the murder,--were commented on and repeated till they formed the table-talk of the land. The only person with whom he desired to communicate was Dr. Tiernay; but the doctor had left Ireland in company with old Mr. Corrigan and Miss Leicester, and none knew whither they had directed their steps. Of all his former friends and acquaintances, Cashel did not appear to remember one; nor, certainly, did they obtrude themselves in any way upon his recollection. The public, it is true, occupied themselves abundantly with his interests. Letters, some with signatures, the greater number without, were addressed to him, containing advices and counsels the strangest and most opposite, and requests, which to one in his situation were the most inappropriate. Exhortations to confess his crime came from some, evidently more anxious for the solution of a mystery than the repentance of a criminal. Some suggested legal quibbles to be used at the trial; others hinted at certain most skilful advocates, whose services had been crowned with success in the case of most atrocious wretches. A few asked for autographs; and one, in a neat crowquill hand, with paper smelling strongly of musk, requested a lock of his hair!