“You mistake the object, my dear Mrs. Horton, though your argument is quite as good as many that are openly advanced on the same side of the question.” “Just hear me, ’Squire,” rejoined the woman; for she loved dearly to get into a discussion on any question that she was accustomed to hear debated among her guests. “The country hangs a body to reform a body; and what good can that do when a body is dead?” “Very ingeniously put,” returned the counsellor, politely offering his box to the landlady, who took a few grains; and then deliberately helping himself to a pinch of snuff—“quite as ingeniously as much of the argument that appears in public. The objection lies to the premises, and not to the deduction, which is absolutely logical and just. A hanged body is certainly an unreformed body; and, as you say, it is quite useless to hang in order to reform.” “There!” exclaimed the woman in triumph—“I told ’Squire Timms that a gentleman who knows as much as you do must be on our side. Depend on one thing, lawyer Dunscomb, and you too, gentlemen—depend on it, that Mary Monson will never be hanged.” This was said with a meaning so peculiar, that it struck Dunscomb, who watched the woman’s earnest countenance while she was speaking, with undeviating interest and intensity. “It is my duty and my wish, Mrs. Horton, to believe as much, and to make others believe it also, if I can,” he answered, now anxious to prolong a discourse that a moment before he had found tiresome. “You can, if you will only try. I believe in dreams—and I dreamt a week ago that Mary Monson would be acquitted. It would be ag’in all our new notions to hang so nice a lady.” “Our _tastes_ might take offence at it; and taste is of _some_ influence yet, I am bound to agree with you.” “But you do agree with me in the uselessness of hanging, when the object is to reform?” “Unfortunately for the force of that argument, my dear landlady, society does not punish for the purposes of reformation—that is a very common blunder of superficial philanthropists.” “Not for the purposes of reformation, ’Squire!—You astonish me! Why, for what else should it punish?” “For its own protection. To prevent others from committing murder. Have you no other reason than your dream, my good Mrs. Horton, for thinking Mary Monson will be acquitted?” The woman put on a knowing look, and nodded her head significantly. At the same time, she glanced towards the counsellor’s companions, as much as to say that their presence prevented her being more explicit. “Ned, do me the favour to go to your wife, and tell her I shall stop in, and say a kind word as I pass her door;—and, Jack, go and bid Sarah be in Mrs. McBrain’s parlour, ready to give me my morning’s kiss.” The Doctor and John complied, leaving Dunscomb alone with the woman. “May I repeat the question, my good landlady?—Why do you think Mary Monson is to be acquitted?” asked Dunscomb, in one of his softest tones.