At this point Paul, knowing that he was drawing near to the end of what he had to say, felt that he was indeed fighting for his life, and I will not endeavour to describe his speech further. Possessing a mind of more than ordinary clearness, having the gift of language to a marked degree, and also having the strongest motive to make the most of the facts which stood out clearly before him, he spoke almost like a man inspired. With trembling voice, he was outwardly calm in appearance. He again reviewed the evidence, showed its weakness, tore the sophistries of Mr. Bakewell to pieces, and moved the hearts of all present by his passionate appeal. More than once the spectators broke in applause, while the barristers nudged each other with nods of approval, as he made some special point in his defence. And presently, when he sat down, everyone felt that Paul had saved his own life, that he had fought a great battle and won it, that he not only did not commit the deed of which he was accused, but that he was utterly incapable of it, and that he would leave the court amid shouts of triumph. Even to this day his speech is spoken of as one of the most triumphant efforts ever made in the Manchester Assize Courts. But this was only for a time. It is true he had seemingly answered Mr. Bakewell in every point. It is true, too, that it seemed a crime beyond all description to pronounce the Verdict of guilty upon him, but naturally it was an _ex-parte_ Statement, it was the speech of a clever man fighting for his life, who naturally did the best with the material at his disposal. He had been talking for nearly two hours, and during that time all were under the spell not only of his words but of his personality. When he had finished, the judge waited for perhaps a minute, and seemed to be looking at his notes, and presently all eyes were transferred from the prisoner's dock to the judge's chair. What had this keen legal machine to say? Throughout Paul's speech he had listened with close attention, and had evidently admired the points he had made. But as we have said, Judge Branscombe was a lawyer, a lawyer to the finger tips, and he was one who thought much of outward facts, and little of what might be probable or not probable. Long associated with the law as he was, he had known many cases where criminals had done the most unlikely things, and where facts had scattered theories to the winds. He had won eminence at the Bar because of this attitude of mind. He cared nothing about probabilities. He cared little about theories, but dealt with facts.