Sophy did not know what the woman’s offence had been, but the punishment seemed terrible; and as the poor creature, who had evidently not expected so long a term, broke out into cries, oaths, and imprecations, Sophy shuddered, and was almost moved to tears. To the Judge, to the barristers, the police, and the other officials, it was only part of the ordinary routine of their lives. To the gentle woman who had lived in shelter all her days, the sight of this sister-woman’s face, coarse, bloated, distorted by passion and despair, was like a glimpse into a world of which she had never even dreamed--a world in which blessings were exchanged for curses, tender thoughts for the fury of selfish passions, and liberty for bondage. As the woman was led down a staircase inside the dock, which communicated with the cells, the clerk of the arraigns and the counsel on the front row were exchanging a few words. And in another moment the clerk called out: ‘Bring up Alexander Lindsay!’ A subdued rustle of excitement passed through the court, and every eye was turned to the dock. In another moment Alec had taken his place, calm and self-possessed, but very pale. The first thing he saw was his father’s face. The old man was sitting at the solicitor’s table, facing the dock, with Margaret by his side. No emotion of any kind was visible on his features; but Alec fancied--probably it was only his fancy--that a look of reproach was in his eyes. Margaret, unable to meet her brother’s gaze, was looking stedfastly at the table in front of her. Opposite her sat Beattie; and behind him, with his back to Alec, sat Mr. Corker, who had, of course, been instructed for the defence. As the clerk was reading the indictment, Alec’s eyes were fixed on the ledge in front of him. He knew that Duncan Cameron was somewhere in the building; and the thought comforted him. Then, somehow, he fell to thinking of his College-days; and was only recalled from his reverie when the clerk’s voice was raised to ask him: ‘How say you, Alexander Lindsay; are you guilty, or not guilty?’ ‘Not guilty.’ Then the clerk proceeded to swear in the jury; and then Mr. Collithorne, Q.C., rose to open the case for the Crown. Mr. Collithorne was famed at the bar for his ‘deadly moderation’ as a prosecuting counsel. Never raising his voice, over-stating nothing, admitting beforehand the facts on which he knew the defence would be based, his words had with the jury the weight which attaches to the utterances of a Judge rather than that which belongs to the speech of an advocate.