essed decorously in black, as is customary, or at least in some
costume bespeaking care and respect, was attired in the very suit
he wore on the eventful night of the murder, the torn sleeves and
blood-stained patches attracting every eye around him. He was paler
and thinner than his wont; and if his countenance was more deeply
thoughtful, there was nothing in it that evinced anxiety, or even
expectancy. As he entered the dock, they who stood nearest to him
remarked that a slight flush stole over his face, and something that
seemed painful to his feelings appeared to work within him. A brief
effort overcame this, and he raised his eyes and carried his looks
around the court with the most perfect unconcern.

The prisoner was now arraigned, and the clerk proceeded to read over
the indictment; after which came the solemn question, "How say you,
prisoner, Guilty or Not Guilty?" Either not understanding the "quaere"
as directly addressed to himself, or conceiving it to be some formality
not requiring an answer, Cashel stood in a calm and respectful silence
for some minutes, when the judge, in a mild voice, explained the meaning
of the interrogation.

"Not Guilty, my Lord," said Cashel, promptly; and though the words were
few, and those almost of course on such an occasion, the feeling in the
court was manifestly in concurrence with the speaker. The routine detail
of calling over the jury panel involving the privilege of "challenge,"
it became necessary to explain this to Cashel, whose ignorance of all
legal forms being now so manifest, the judge asked who was counsel for
the prisoner.

"He has not named any, my Lord."

With patient kindness the judge turned to the dock, and counselled him,
even now, late as it was, to select some one among the learned members
of the Bar, whose guidance would materially serve his interests, and
save him from the many embarrassments his own unassisted efforts would
produce.

"I thank you, my Lord, for your consideration," replied he, calmly, "but
if I be innocent of this crime, I stand in need of no skill to defend
me. If guilty, I do not deserve it."

"Were guilt and innocence always easy of detection," said the judge,
"your remark might have some show of reason; but such is rarely the
case, and once more I would entreat you to intrust your cause to some
one conversant with our forms and acquainted with our duties."

"I am not guilty, my Lord," replied Roland, boldly, "nor do I fear t