ared to himself to be so damning to his own cause now
melted away, and seemed to be of no avail. And even Mr. Seely, when he
came to see his client in the evening, was less oppressive than usual.
He did not, indeed, venture to express hope, but in his hopelessness he
was somewhat more hopeful than before. 'You must remember, Mr.
Caldigate,' he said, 'that you have not yet heard the judge, and that
with such a jury the Judge will go much further than any advocate. I
never knew a Cambridgeshire jury refuse to be led by Judge Bramber.'

'Why a Cambridgeshire jury?' asked old Mr. Caldigate; 'and why Judge
Bramber especially?'

'We are a little timid, I think, here in the eastern counties,--a little
wanting in self-confidence. An advocate in the north of England has a
finer scope, because the people like to move counter to authority. A
Lancashire jury will generally be unwilling to do what a judge tells
them. And then Judge Bramber has a peculiar way of telling a jury. If he
has a strong opinion of his own he never leaves the jury in doubt about
it. Some judges are--what I call flabby, Mr. Caldigate. They are a
little afraid of responsibility, and leave the jury and the counsel to
fight it out among them. Sir John did it very well, no doubt;--very
well. He made the best he could of that postage stamp, though I don't
know that it will go for much. The point most in our favour is that
those Australians are a rough lot to look at. The woman has been
drinking, and has lost her good looks,--so that the jurymen won't be
soft about her.' Caldigate, when he heard this, thought of Euphemia
Smith on board the Goldfinder, when she certainly did not drink, when
her personal appearance was certainly such as might touch the heart of
any juryman. Gold and drink together had so changed the woman that he
could hardly persuade himself that she was that forlorn attractive
female whom he had once so nearly loved.

Before he went to bed, Caldigate wrote to his wife as he had done also
on the preceding evening. 'There is to be another long, tedious,
terrible day, and then it may be that I shall be able to write no more.
For your sake, almost more than for my own, I am longing for it to be
over. It would be vain for me to attempt to tell you all that took
place. I do not dare to give you hope which I know may be fallacious.
And yet I feel my own heart somewhat higher than it was when I wrote
last night.' Then he did tell her something of what ha