The evidence against the prisoner at the bar was circumstantial only. It had appeared in evidence that some servant of the family had admitted the assassin to the house. It did not appear who that servant was. The valet John Potts, was the only one who had the pass-key to the apartments of the deceased. That circumstance had fixed suspicion upon him; had brought him to trial; the trial had brought out no new facts; the witness principally relied on by the prosecution had not only failed to give any testimony to convict the prisoner, but had certainly perjured herself to shield the real criminal, whoever he was, and to accuse a noble personage, whose high character and lofty station alike placed him infinitely above suspicion. On the other hand, many witnesses had testified to the good character and conduct of the prisoner, and the estimation in which he had been held by his late master. Such was the evidence, pro and con. His lordship concluded by saying that the jury might now retire and deliberate upon their verdict, remembering that in all cases of uncertainty they should lean to the side of mercy. The jury arose from their seats, and, conducted by a bailiff, retired to the room provided for them. Many of the people now left the court-room to get refreshments. But as the judges remained upon the bench, the Duke of Hereward kept his seat. He felt sure that the jury would not long deliberate before bringing in their verdict. Meanwhile he turned to glance at the prisoner. John Potts looked like a man without a hope in the world. We have already seen that an awful change had come over him since the day of his arrest, three months before. Now, as he leaned forward where he sat, and rested his head upon his skeleton hands, that clasped the top of the railing of the dock, his face, or what could be seen of it, was ghastly pale with agony, while his emaciated frame trembled from head to foot. _He looked like a guilty man._ And his looks were now, as they had been from the moment in which the dead body of his master had been discovered, the strongest testimony against him. For all that, you know, they cannot hang a man merely because he looks as if he ought to be hung. After an absence of about fifteen minutes, the jury, led by a bailiff, returned to the court-room. The prisoner looked up, shivered, and dropped his head upon his clasped hands again. The dead silence of breathless expectation in the court-room was now broken by the solemn voice of the Clerk of Arraigns, inquiring, in measured tones: "Gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon your verdict?" "We have," answered the foreman, a jolly, red-headed, round bodied Banff baker. "Prisoner at the bar, stand up and look upon the jury," ordered the clerk. The poor, abject, and terrified wretch tottered to his feet and stood, pallid, shaking, and grasping the front rails of the dock for support.