not advised by the judge to secure such counsel. An innocent man had nothing to hide. It was only the guilty who sought to shelter himself behind silence. He would like to testify to the prisoner's ability in cross-examination and of his power to nullify the force of certain evidence which told against him. But they had not to deal with sophistries. They had to deal with the hard facts which had been submitted to them. These facts he enumerated one by one, dealing with the evidence which had been given in support of them. He admitted that there might be certain difficulties in their way, certain things hard to explain, and which could only be explained by the prisoner. Still, certain facts remained--facts upon which they would have to judge. Presently came the summing-up of his speech, and it was here that Mr. Bakewell justified the reputation he had won as one of the cleverest of criminal lawyers. Everything in Paul's disfavour was set before them in cold, clear, terse language. One point after another was emphasised with terrible precision, and so great was the impression made that it seemed as though both judge and jury could see only with his eyes. All the things which appeared as difficulties were apparently removed. The facts of the case pointed to one man as the murderer of Edward Wilson, and that one man was Paul Stepaside. Mr. Bakewell seemed to be under strong emotion, but that very emotion strengthened the impression which he had made, especially when he spoke of the sacredness of human life, spoke of the terrible responsibility of a jury in condemning a prisoner to death. Nevertheless, he seemed to make it impossible for them to do anything else. When he sat down it seemed as though the scaffold were already erected, and the ghastly rope swinging from it. Of course, the court was again crowded almost to suffocation. Mr. Bakewell had spoken for more than two hours, and during the whole time the interest had been intense, the excitement almost overwhelming. Whenever he paused it seemed as though they could hear the wings of the Angel of Death fluttering over them. Women sobbed aloud, strong men breathed forth quivering sighs. Even the barristers who sat watching the case, and who as a rule regarded murder cases with an air of nonchalance, could not hide their emotion. Everything seemed to be prejudged. No evidence had been adduced strong enough to save the prisoner, and each juryman, who sat with eyes fixed upon the eloquent counsel, looked as though there were only one thing to do, and that was to pronounce the word "Guilty."