These candles were of spermaceti, the ordinary American substitute for wax. Nothing that he then saw, or had ever seen in his intercourse with his client, so profoundly impressed Timms as this luxury of light. Accustomed himself to read and write by a couple of small inferior articles in tallow, when he did not use a lamp, there seemed to be something regal to his unsophisticated imagination, in this display of brilliancy. Whether Mary Monson had a purpose to answer in giving Timms so unusual a reception, we shall leave the reader to discover by means of his own sagacity; but circumstances might well lead one to the conclusion that she had. There was a satisfied look, as she glanced around the cell and surveyed its arrangements, that possibly led fairly enough to such an inference. Nevertheless, her demeanour was perfectly quiet, betraying none of the fidgeting uneasiness of an underbred person, lest all might not be right. Every arrangement was left to the servant; and when Marie Moulin finally quitted the cell and closed the door behind her, every thought of the apartment and what it contained seemed to vanish from the mind of her extraordinary mistress. “Before you proceed to communicate the purpose of your visit, Mr. Timms,” Mary Monson said, “I shall ask permission to put a few questions of my own, touching the state of our cause. Have we gained or lost by this day’s proceedings?” “Most clearly gained, as every man at the bar will confirm by his opinion.” “That has been my own way of thinking; and I am glad to hear it corroborated by such competent judges. I confess the prosecution does not seem to me to show the strength it really possesses. This Jane Pope made a miserable blunder about the piece of coin.” “She has done the other side no great good, certainly.” “How stands the jury, Mr. Timms?” Although this question was put so directly, Timms heard it with uneasiness. Nor did he like the expression of Mary Monson’s eyes, which seemed to regard him with a keenness that might possibly imply distrust. But it was necessary to answer; though he did so with caution, and with a due regard to his own safety. “It is pretty well,” he said, “though not quite as much opposed to capital punishment as I had hoped for. We challenged off one of the sharpest chaps in the county, and have got in his place a man who is pretty much under my thumb.” “And the stories—the reports—have they been well circulated?” “A little too well, I’m afraid. That concerning your having married a Frenchman, and having run away from him, has gone through all the lower towns of Duke’s like wild-fire. It has even reached the ears of ’Squire Dunscomb, and will be in the York papers to-morrow.” A little start betrayed the surprise of the prisoner; and a look accompanied it, which would seem to denote dissatisfaction that a tale put in circulation by herself, as it would now appear, had gone quite so far.