_Ryder._ Never, upon my soul.

_Prisoner._ When was your child born?

_Ryder._ My child! I have none.

_Prisoner._ In January, 1743, you left a baby at Biggleswade, with a
woman called Church,--did you not?

_Ryder_ (panting). Of course I did. It was my sister's.

_Prisoner._ Do you mean to call God to witness that child was not
your's?

Ryder hesitated.

_Prisoner._ Will you swear Mrs. Church did not see you suckle that child
in secret, and weep over it?

At this question the perspiration stood visible on Ryder's brow, her
cheeks were ghastly, and her black eyes roved like some wild animal's
round the court. She saw her own danger, and had no means of measuring
her inquisitor's information.

"My lord, have pity on me. I was betrayed, abandoned. Why am I so
tormented? _I_ have not committed murder." So, catlike, she squealed and
scratched at once.

_Prisoner._ What! to swear away an innocent life, is not that murder?

_Judge._ Prisoner, we make allowances for your sex, and your peril, but
you must not remark on the evidence at present. Examine as severely as
you will, but abstain from comment till you address the jury on your
defence.

_Sergeant Wiltshire._ My lord, I submit that this line of examination is
barbarous, and travels out of the case entirely.

_Prisoner._ Not so, Mr. Sergeant. 'T is done by advice of an able
lawyer. My life is in peril, unless I shake this witness's credit. To
that end I show you she is incontinent, and practised in falsehood.
Unchastity has been held in these courts to disqualify a female witness,
hath it not, my lord?

_Judge._ Hardly. But to disparage her evidence it has. And wisely; for
she who loses her virtue enters on a life of deceit; and lying is a
habit that spreads from one thing to many. Much wisdom there is in
ancient words. Our forefathers taught us to call a virtuous woman an
honest woman, and the law does but follow in that track; still, however,
leaving much to the discretion of the jury.

_Prisoner._ I would show her more mercy than she has shown to me.
Therefore I leave that matter. Witness, be so good as to examine Mrs.
Hamilton's letter, and compare it with your own. The "y's" and the "s's"
are peculiar in both, and yet the same. Come, confess, Mrs. Hamilton's
is a forgery. You wrote it. Be pleased to hand both letters up to my
lord to compare; the disguise is but thin.

_Ryder._ Forgery there was none. There is no Mrs. Hamilton. (She burst
into