Sir John Joram was at this time a man of considerable dignity, above fifty years of age, having already served the offices of Solicitor and Attorney-General to his party.  To his compeers and intimate friends it seemed to be but the other day since he was Jacky Joram, one of the jolliest little fellows ever known at an evening party, up to every kind of fun, always rather short of money, and one of whom it was thought that, because he was good-looking, he might some day achieve the success of marrying a woman with money.  On a sudden he married a girl without a shilling, and men shook their heads and sighed as they spoke of poor Jacky Joram.  But, again, on a sudden,—­quite as suddenly,—­there came tidings that Jacky had been found out by the attorneys, and that he was earning his bread.  As we grow old things seem to come so quickly!  His friends had hardly realised the fact that Jacky was earning his bread before he was in Parliament and had ceased to be Jacky.  And the celerity with which he became Sir John was the most astonishing of all.  Years no doubt had passed by.  But years at fifty are no more than months at thirty,—­are less than weeks in boyhood.  And now while some tongues, by dint of sheer habit, were still forming themselves into Jacky, Sir John Joram had become the leading advocate of the day, and a man renowned for the dignity of his manners.

In the House,—­for he had quite got the ear of the House,—­a certain impressive good sense, a habit of saying nothing that was not necessary to the occasion, had chiefly made for him the high character he enjoyed; but in the law courts it was perhaps his complaisance, his peculiar courtesy, of which they who praised him talked the most.  His aptitude to get verdicts was of course the cause of his success.  But it was observed of him that in perverting the course of justice,—­which may be said to be the special work of a successful advocate,—­he never condescended to bully anybody.  To his own witnesses he was simple and courteous, as are barristers generally.  But to adverse witnesses he was more courteous, though no doubt less simple.  Even to some perjured comrade of an habitual burglar he would be studiously civil:  but to a woman such as Euphemia Caldigate, alias Smith, it was certain that he would be so smooth as to make her feel almost pleased with the amenities of her position.

He asked her very many questions, offering to provide her with the comfort of a seat if it were necessary.  She said that she was not at all tired, and that she preferred to stand.  As to the absolute fact of the marriage she did not hesitate at all.  She was married in the tent at Ahalala in the presence of Crinkett and Adamson, and of her own female companion, Anna Young,—­all of whom were there to give evidence of the fact.  Whether any one else was in the tent, she could not say, but she knew that there were others at the entrance.  The tent was hardly large enough for more than five or six.