The conclusion of Dunscomb’s summing up was manly, touching, even eloquent. He spoke of a lone and defenceless female, surrounded by strangers, being dragged to the bar on charges of such gravity; pointed to his client where she sat enthralled by his language, with all the signs of polished refinement on her dress, person, and manners; delicate, feminine, and beautiful; and asked if any one, who had the soul and feelings of a man, could believe that such a being had committed the crimes imputed to Mary Monson. The appeal was powerful, and was dwelt on just long enough to give it full and fair effect. It left the bench, the bar, the jury-box, the whole audience in fact, in tears. The prisoner alone kept an unmoistened eye; but it was in a face flushed with feeling. Her self-command was almost supernatural. CHAPTER XXVII. “I’ll brave her to her face: I’ll give my anger its free course against her. Thou shalt see, Phœnix, how I’ll break her pride.” _The Distressed Mother._ The District Attorney was fully impressed with the importance of the duty that had now devolved on him. Although we have daily proofs on all sides of us, of the truth of that remark of Bacon’s, “that no man rises to eminence in the State without a mixture of great and mean qualities,” this favourite of the people had his good points as well as another. He was a humane man; and, contrary to the expectations, and greatly to the disappointment of Williams, he now took on himself the office of summing up.