his guilt--spoke of the mournful increase of crime--of laws, and life,
and property being at stake--and finally closed his address with a
sentence expressive of the extreme improbability of the prisoner's
defence; for he, on being asked if he had any thing further to say,
replied in the negative, only asserting, in the most solemn manner, his
innocence of the charge.

The jury retired, and Ellen's hard, short breathings, alone told that
she existed. Her head was thrown back, her lips apart, and slightly
quivering, and her eyes fixedly gazing on the empty box, with an anxious
and wild stare of hope and suspense. Owen's face was very pale, and
his lips livid--there was the slightest perceptible emotion about the
muscles of his mouth, but his eye quailed not, and his broad brow had
the impress of an unquenched spirit as firmly fixed as ever on its
marble front. A quarter of an hour elapsed, and still the same agonizing
suspense--another, and the jury returned not--five minutes, and they
reentered. Ellen's heart, beat as if it would burst her bosom; and
Owen's pale cheek became a little more flushed, and his eye full of
anxiety. The foreman in a measured, feelingless tone pronounced the word
"Guilty!" and a thrill of horror passed through the entire court, while
that sickness which agonizes the very depths of the soul convulsed
Owen's face with a momentary spasm, and he faltered "God's will be
done." The judge slowly drew on the black cap, and still Ellen moved
not--it seemed as if the very blood within her veins was frozen, and
that her life's pulses no more could execute their functions. No man,
however brave or hardened, can view the near approach of certain death,
and be unmoved; and as that old man, in tremulous tones, uttered the
dread fiat of his fate, Owen's eyes seemed actually to sink within
his head--the veins of his brow swelled and grew black, and his hands
grasped the iron rail that surrounded the dock, as though he would force