“We are of opinion, my Lord,” said a juryman, “that great latitude in the expression of temper should be conceded to a young man reared and educated as the prisoner has been.” “These sentiments, honorable to you as they are, cannot be indulged at the expense of justice, however they may find a fitting place in a recommendation to mercy; and even this must be accompanied by something more than sympathies.” “Well said, old boy!” muttered Frobisher to himself. “My odds are looking up again.” “In that case, my Lord, we must retire again,” said the foreman; and the jury once more quitted the court, whose occupants at once resumed all the lounging attitudes from which the late scene had aroused them. Exhaustion, indeed, had overcome all save the prisoner himself, who paced the narrow limits of the dock with slow and noiseless steps, raising his head at intervals, to watch the gallery where the jury were to appear. In less than half an hour the creaking of a door awoke the drowsy court, and the jury were seen re-entering the box. They continued to talk among each other as they took their seats, and seemed like men still under the influence of warm discussion. “Not agreed!” muttered Frobisher, looking at his book. “I stand to win, even on that.” To the formal question of the Court, the foreman for an instant made no reply, for he was still in eager conversation with another juror. “How say you, gentlemen of the jury? Are you agreed?” “We are, my Lord,” said the foreman; “that is to say, some of the jury have conceded to the rest for the sake of a verdict.” “This does not seem to me like agreement,” interposed the judge. “If you be not of the same mind, it will be your duty to retire once more, and strive by the use of argument and reason to bring the minority to your opinion; or, in failure of such result, to avow that you are not like-minded.” “We have done all that is possible in that respect, my Lord; and we beg you will receive our verdict.” “If it be your verdict, gentlemen,” said the judge, “I desire nothing more.” “We say, Not Guilty, my Lord,” said the foreman. There was a solemn pause followed the words, and then a low murmur arose, which gradually swelled till it burst forth into a very clamor, that only the grave rebuke of the Bench reduced to the wonted decorum of a court of justice. “I am never disposed, gentlemen of the jury, to infringe upon the sacred prerogative which environs your office. You are responsible to God and your own consciences for the words you have uttered here, this day; but my duty requires that I should be satisfied that you have come to your conclusion by a due understanding of the facts laid before you in evidence, by just and natural inferences from those facts, and by weighing well and dispassionately all that you have heard here, to the utter exclusion of anything you may have listened to outside of this court. Is your verdict in accordance with these conditions?”