"'What's that?' I asked. "'I have just asked the prisoner if he has anyone who can speak to his character, and he says you know him slightly,' said the recorder with a smile. "'To the best of my knowledge I never saw the man in my life before,' I replied. "'Yes, you have, Mr. Derwent,' the prisoner said in a low voice--and you will understand what silence there was in the court--'you have seen me working at Windyridge 'All, sir, afore I sank to this. You remember, sir, I was allus known as Ginty.'" I started, and the Cynic continued: "I looked at him closely then, and saw that it was indeed he, Ginty, ten years older than he was a year ago: haggard, seamed with lines of care, unkempt, but, unless I am mistaken, not altogether hardened. "I turned to the recorder. 'I do know the prisoner, sir,' I said, 'but I did not recognise him, and therefore I have not paid attention to the case;' and as briefly as I could I told the court how he had been led astray. It was you, Miss Holden, who described it all so graphically, you may remember, and I repeated the story as you told it, and I pleaded hard for the young chap. He got off with three months, which was less than might have been expected." "Poor Ginty!" I interrupted. "I wonder if his mother will hear of it. I suppose news of that kind rarely filters through the walls of a workhouse?" "No walls are impervious to bad news," he replied, "but Ginty's concern was less for his mother than for his sweetheart, Sarah Ann. At bottom I believe Ginty is penitent, and would like to break with the rogues who have led him on; but the poor beggar is weak-willed, and the easy prey of his blustering companions. I managed to get an interview with him, and he wished me to ask you to tell the girl everything, and to beg her to pity and forgive him; and he promises to turn over a new leaf, and will marry her eventually if she is willing." "Sarah Ann must not be told at present," I replied; "she is far from well, and the shock might be too much for her. She is a highly emotional girl, who would go into violent hysterics incontinently." "Well," he said, "I can leave the matter to your discretion. I have fulfilled my promise, and I am sure you will do what is best. Would it be possible to tell the girl's mother?--if she has a mother." "She has a mother," I answered, "but she is a woman entirely destitute of tact. To tell her would be to publish the news to the whole village, and to have it conveyed to Sarah Ann in the crudest manner conceivable. I think it will be best to hold back the message until I have a fitting opportunity of delivering it to the girl herself. But believe me, the present time is most inopportune."