Dunscomb looked with amazement at the being who quietly made this remark on her own situation. Of beautiful form, with all the signs of a gentle origin and refined education, young, handsome, delicate, nay, dainty of speech and acts, there she sat, indicted for arson and murder, and about to be tried for her life, with the composure of a lady in her drawing-room! The illuminated expression that, at times, rendered her countenance so very remarkable, had now given place to one of sobered sadness; though apprehension did not appear to be in the least predominant. “The sheriff has instilled into his wife a very healthful respect for those she calls the people—healthful, for one who looks to their voices for his support. This is very American.” “I suppose it to be much the same everywhere. I have been a good deal abroad, Mr. Dunscomb, and cannot say I perceive any great difference in men.” “Nor is there any, though circumstances cause different modes of betraying their weaknesses, as well as what there is in them that is good. But the people in this country, Miss Monson, possess a power that, in your case, is not to be despised. As Mrs. Gott would intimate, it may be prudent for you to remember _that_.” “Surely _you_ would not have me make an exhibition of myself, Mr. Dunscomb, at the window of a gaol!” “As far from that as possible. I would have you do nothing that is unbecoming one of your habits and opinions—nothing, in short, that would be improper, as a means of defence, by one accused and tried by the State. Nevertheless, it is always wiser to make friends than to make enemies.” Mary Monson lowered her eyes to the carpet, and Dunscomb perceived that her thoughts wandered. They were not on her critical situation. It was indispensably necessary, however, that he should be explicit, and he did not shrink from his duty. Gently, but distinctly, and with a clearness that a far less gifted mind than that of the accused could comprehend, he now opened the subject of the approaching trial. A few words were first ventured on its grave character, and on the vast importance it was in all respects to his client; to which the latter listened attentively, but without the slightest visible alarm. Next, he alluded to the stories that were in circulation, the impression they were producing, and the danger there was that her rights might be affected by these sinister opinions. “But I am to be tried by a judge and a jury, they tell me,” said Mary Monson, when Dunscomb ceased speaking—“they will come from a distance, and will not be prejudiced against me by all this idle gossip.” “Judges and jurors are only men, and nothing goes farther with less effort than your ‘idle gossip.’ Nothing is repeated accurately, or it is very rare to find it so; and those who only half comprehend a subject are certain to relate with exaggerations and false colourings.”