When he flew away I went and sat for a little by the headstone, and read the mournful lines on it.

Oh, my love! my love! what harm or wrong had you ever done in this world, that you should die at eighteen by a blow from a drunkard's hand?
June 19th.

The trial.

My experience of what happened at it is limited, like my experience of the examination at the police-office, to the time occupied in giving my own evidence.

They made me say much more than I said before the magistrate.