The case against Tom, as stated at the opening of the prosecution, was merely an elaborate version of the narrative of the facts which he had himself briefly related to me in Newgate. Though nobody had been defrauded, since the ship had not been sunk and no money claimed or paid, yet as much emphasis was laid by the prosecution upon the number of offices in which Tom had insured as though my sweetheart’s guilt were beyond question, as though the prosecution indeed had seen him make holes in the ship and sink her, as though he had then arrived in England and received three or four thousand pounds in excess of the worth of the property. The person who addressed the Court for the prosecution had a very clear, musical voice; he had handsome eyes, and would pause at every pointed passage of his opening with an eloquent, appealing, concerned look at the jury. His sweet, persuasive tones and looks doubled to my fear the horrible significance of his statements, and I abhorred him whilst I watched him and listened, and could have killed him in my concealed fright and rage for his cool and coaxing and polished utterance of what I knew to be hellish lies. Often would I watch the jury with a devouring gaze. They were in two rows, six in a row, in a box, and one or another who was above would sometimes lean over and whisper, and one would take a note, and one would sit for ten minutes at a time motionless, with his eyes upon the person speaking. The counsel and gentlemen in wigs and gowns sat around a big table loaded with books and papers. A crowd of people hung about outside this sort of well, formed by the table and its circular benches and backs, and whispered and stared and grinned and took snuff. The judge sat, stern and heavily wigged, not far from the jury. Sometimes he took notes; sometimes his chin sank upon his breast. He seemed to see nothing, and if ever he spoke he appeared to address a vision in midair. I’ll not trouble you with the particulars of this trial. I am passing rapidly now into another scene of life. One witness after another stepped into the box to prove the several insurances which had been effected by Tom; others to testify to the value of the _Arab Chief_ and her lading. The name of Samuel Rotch was then pronounced, and the man came out of a group of people and briskly ascended to give evidence. The hot blood stung in my cheeks when I saw him. My heart beat as though I was stricken with fever. Tom looked at him and kept his eyes upon him all the while that the wretch was answering questions and giving his evidence, but I never once observed that he even so much as glanced at my sweetheart.