“You have got hold of the great point in the case, Jack, and one on which something may be said on both sides. The law is so indulgent, as to permit an accused who has formally pleaded ‘guilty,’ thus making a distinct admission of his crime, to withdraw that plea, and put in another of ‘not guilty.’ Now, had the same person made a similar admission _out_ of court, and under circumstances that put threats or promises out of the question, the law would have accepted _that_ admission as the best possible evidence of his guilt. It is evident, therefore, that an understanding exists, to which the justice of the country is a party, that a man, though guilty, shall get himself out of the scrape, if he can do so by legal means. No more importance is attached to the ‘not guilty,’ than to the ‘not at home’ to a visitor; it being understood, by general convention, that neither means anything. Some persons are so squeamish, as to cause their servants to say ‘they are engaged,’ by way of not telling a lie; but a lie consists in the intentional deception, and ‘not in’ and ‘not guilty’ mean no more, in the one case, than ‘you can’t see my master,’ and in the other, than ‘I’ll run the chances of a trial.’” “After all, sir, this is going pretty near the wind, in the way of morals.” “It certainly is. The Christian man who has committed a crime, ought not to attempt to deny it to his country, as he certainly cannot to his God. Yet, nine hundred and ninety-nine in a thousand of the most strait-laced Christians in the community would so deny their guilt, if arraigned. We must not tax poor human nature too heavily, though I think the common law contains many things, originating in a jealousy of hereditary power, that it is great folly for us to preserve. But, while we are thus settling principles, we forget facts. You have told me nothing of your client, Ned.” “What would you wish to know?” “You called her young, I remember; what may be her precise age?” “That is more than I know; somewhere between sixteen and five-and-twenty.” “Five-and-twenty! Is she as old as that?” “I rather think not; but I have been thinking much of her this morning, and I really do not remember to have seen another human being who is so difficult to describe.” “She has eyes, of course?” “Two—and very expressive they are; though, sworn, I could not tell their colour.” “And hair?” “In very great profusion; so much of it, and so very fine and shining, that it was the first thing about her person which I observed. But I have not the least notion of its colour.” “Was it red?” “No; nor yellow, nor golden, nor black, nor brown,—and yet a little of all blended together, I should say.” “Ned, I’ll tell the Widow Updyke of thee, thou rogue!” “Tell her, and welcome. She has asked me all these questions herself, this very morning.” “Oh, she has, has she? Umph! Woman never changes her nature. You cannot say anything about the eyes, beyond the fact of their being very expressive?”