“Not very good,” was the answer. “That foreign instrument, which they say is just such an one as David used when he played before Saul, has done a good deal of harm. It won’t do, ’Squire Timms, to fiddle off an indictment for murder! Mankind gets engaged in such causes; and if they desire music on the trial, it’s the music of law and evidence that they want.” “Have you heard any reports concerning Mary Monson’s past life?—if so, can you tell where they come from?” Johnson knew perfectly well whence a portion of the rumours came; those which told in favour of the accused; but these he easily comprehended were not the reports to which Timms alluded. “Biberry is full of all sorts of rumours,” returned Johnson, cautiously, “as it commonly is in court-time. Parties like to make the most of their causes.” “You know my meaning—we have no time to lose; answer at once.” “I suppose I do know what you mean, ’Squire Timms; and I have heard the report. In my judgment, the person who set it afloat is no friend of Mary Monson’s.” “You think, then, it will do her damage?” “To the extent of her neck. Eve, before she touched the apple, could not have been acquitted in the face of such a rumour. I look upon your client as a lost woman, ’Squire Timms.” “Does that seem to be the common sentiment—that is, so far as you can judge?” “Among the jurors it does.” “The jurors!” exclaimed Dunscomb—“what can you possibly know of the opinions of the jurors, Mr. Johnson?” A cold smile passed over the man’s face, and he looked steadily at Timms, as if to catch a clue that might conduct him safely through the difficulties of his case. A frown that was plain enough to the agent, though admirably concealed from all others in the room, told him to be cautious. “I only know what I see and hear. Jurors are men, and other men can sometimes get an insight into their feelings, without running counter to law. I heard the rumour related myself, in the presence of seven of the panel. It’s true, nothing was said of the murder, or the arson; but such a history of the previous life of the accused was given as Lady Washington couldn’t have stood up ag’in, had she been livin’, and on trial for her life.” “Was anything said of insanity?” asked Dunscomb. “Ah, that plea will do no good, now-a-days; it’s worn out. They’d hang a murderer from Bedlam. Insanity has been overdone, and can’t be depended on any longer.” “Was anything said on the subject?” repeated the counsellor. “Why, to own the truth, there was; but, as that told _for_ Mary Monson, and not _ag’in_ her, it was not pressed.” “You think, then, that the story has been circulated by persons in favour of the prosecution?” “I know it. One of the other side said to me, not ten minutes ago—‘Johnson,’ said he—‘we are old friends’—he always speaks to me in that familiar way—‘Johnson,’ said he, ‘you’d a done better to have gi’n up. What’s five thousand dollars to the likes of her? and them you know is the figures.”