Page 134 of 483

A murmur of approbation followed Elizabeth's simple and powerful

appeal, but it was excited by her generous interference, and not

in favour of poor Justine, on whom the public indignation was

turned with renewed violence, charging her with the blackest

ingratitude. She herself wept as Elizabeth spoke, but she did not

answer. My own agitation and anguish was extreme during the whole

trial. I believed in her innocence; I knew it. Could the daemon

who had (I did not for a minute doubt) murdered my brother also

in his hellish sport have betrayed the innocent to death and

ignominy? I could not sustain the horror of my situation, and

when I perceived that the popular voice and the countenances of

the judges had already condemned my unhappy victim, I rushed out

of the court in agony. The tortures of the accused did not equal

mine; she was sustained by innocence, but the fangs of remorse

tore my bosom and would not forgo their hold.