yielding to the common prejudice, gave it as their opinion that he was,
or _might have been_(!), the author of the forgery.

But all this was as nothing when compared with the injury which Dalton
himself did to his own cause by the course which he chose to adopt.
Contenting himself with the simple assertion of his innocence, he
refused to give the name of the guilty man, or to say any thing that
might lead to his discovery. Actuated by a lofty sense of honor, a
chivalrous sentiment of loyalty and friendship, he kept the secret with
obstinate fidelity; and the almost frantic appeals of his counsel, who
saw in the discovery of the real offender the only chance for the escape
of the accused, and who used every possible argument to shake his
resolve, availed not in the slightest degree to shake his firmness.
They employed detectives, and instituted inquiries in all directions in
the endeavor to find out who might be this friend for whom Dalton was
willing to risk honor and life; but their search was completely baffled.
Dalton's silence was therefore taken as an evidence of guilt, and his
refusal to confess on a friend was regarded as a silly attempt to excite
public sympathy. When the counsel ventured to bring this forward to the
jury, and tried to portray Dalton as a man who chose rather to suffer
than to say that which might bring a friend to destruction, it was
regarded as a wild, Quixotic, and maudlin piece of sentimentalism on the
part of said counsel, and was treated by the prosecution with
unspeakable scorn and ridicule. Under such circumstances the result was
inevitable: Frederick Dalton was declared guilty, and sentenced to
transportation for life.

Among the notes which had been written by Miss Plympton, Edith was very
forcibly struck by some which referred to John Wiggins.