this point we have exactly
two pieces of evidence. A young woman like the prisoner was seen
walking in the direction of Newton Bay, about midnight, by the
witness Evan Thomas. On the following afternoon the severed hand
was discovered on the beach of Newton Bay by a visitor.

'How did it get there? It is for you to say. On behalf of the Crown,
it is my duty to suggest to you that the prisoner in the dock may have
carried the result of her crime to that distant spot, in several
journeys, one of which happened to be seen. I must put it to you that
piece by piece she accomplished her revolting task, and that she
sought to hide the traces of her guilt in the sea. If you think that a
rational and likely course of circumstances, no doubt you will say so.

'Gentlemen, I have done. I trust I have not detained you at undue
length over this case, which must strike you as one of the most grave
and difficult that could well come before a court of justice. I shall
now, with the assistance of my learned friend, put the evidence before
you. If you are left in any doubt after hearing it, and, after hearing
the prisoner's defence, if you feel that there are mysteries in the
case which have not been properly explained, and difficulties which
have not been fully met, then you will, I feel sure, be only too glad
to acquit the prisoner of this dreadful charge. But if, on the other
hand, you are fully and entirely satisfied, if you feel no doubt
whatever--of course, I mean no reasonable doubt--you will, I am
equally sure, do your painful duty by returning a verdict of guilty.'

The barrister sat down, and his junior, who had listened impatiently
to the close of the speech, at once started up, and called out:

'John Lewis!'

And now, for the first time, Charles Prescott ventured to look towards
the dock. After the first involuntary glance at Eleanor's entrance, he
had steadily kept his eyes averted. During the whole of his address,
which took up nearly an hour, he never once looked round. He was
afraid to trust himself. That one brief glance had revived the
memories of old with an added force which almost overwhelmed him.

Yet he was not what would be called an emotional man. His was
one of those natures which maintain a seeming coldness under all
circumstances, but which often conceal in their depths a strength of
passion and devotion compared to which the fiery outbreaks of others
are mere 'sound and fury, signifying nothing.' And no