The new voice belongs to Mr. Andrew Banks, rising young barrister; and Mr. Andrew Banks is disposed to be flippant. For it must not be understood, gentlemen of the jury, that because a man of the station of life of the prisoner has run through a fortune—or half-a-dozen fortunes for the matter of that—and has made a mistake in the exuberance of his heart in signing some one else’s name instead of his own—it must really not be imagined, gentlemen, that that man for that reason is capable of the atrocious crime with which he stands charged. In fact, this rising young barrister would have the gentlemen of the jury believe that the fact of his having done these things and done them in an open-handed devil-may-care gentlemanly fashion, rather redounds to his credit than otherwise—and goes indeed far to prove him incapable of such a crime as this. The rising young barrister would beg to call the attention of this most intelligent jury to the witnesses relied upon for the prosecution. One—the witness in regard to the forgery and the stolen notes—is a sixty per-cent. money-lender who has doubtless bled the prisoner pretty freely for years; the other—and a most unwilling witness it must be remembered, gentlemen—is a former servant of the prisoner and now on his own confession out of a situation. In a word, gentlemen of the jury, this rising young barrister absolutely flouts the testimony of the witnesses for the prosecution; has a little to say about hearths and homes and British liberties; and sits down amid a little murmur of applause. But the rising young barrister is not so sanguine as he appears, for he leans across towards his learned brother from the Treasury and whispers before that gentleman rises again—“Devilish uphill work! Can’t get a word out of him—won’t suggest any course of defence at all.” A few more words from the prosecution—wholly unnecessary words, for the jury are whispering and have obviously made up their minds. Then amid a silence the Judge sums up; would evidently be merciful if he could; but is compelled to point out all the most damning facts against the prisoner—his desperate attempts to regain his liberty—the absence of any evidence to rebut the weight of testimony brought forward by the prosecution. In a word, gentlemen of the jury, your course is clear before you, and you are called upon to do your duty. A whispering—a rustling—and a nodding of heads among the jurymen; for it is not even necessary for them to retire. Then amid a silence greater even than before the usual questions are put and the verdict—known long ago to every man and every woman in the Court—is spoken in one word. Guilty!