“I have.”

“You have been in the habit of receiving gentlemen rather indiscriminately at your house, haven’t you?”

“I object to the question,” said Mr. Balfour quickly.  “It carries a covert insult to the witness.”

Mrs. Dillingham bowed to Mr. Balfour in acknowledgment of his courtesy, but answered the question.  “I have received you, sir, and Mr. Belcher.  I may have been indiscriminate in my courtesies.  A lady living alone cannot always tell.”

A titter ran around the court-room, in which Mr. Belcher joined.  His admiration was too much at the moment for his self-interest.

“Did you know before you went to Number Nine, that your brother was there?” inquired Mr. Cavendish.

“I did, and the last time but one at which Mr. Belcher called upon me I informed him of the fact.”

“That your brother was there?”

“No, that Paul Benedict was there.”

“How did you know he was there?”

“His little boy wrote me from there, and told me so.”

Mr. Cavendish had found more than he sought.  He want’ ed to harass the witness, but he had been withheld by his client.  Baffled on one hand and restrained on the other—­for Mr. Belcher could not give her up, and learn to hate her in a moment—­he told the witness he had no more questions to ask.

Mrs. Dillingham drew down her veil again, and walked to her seat.

Harry Benedict was next called, and after giving satisfactory answers to questions concerning his understanding of the nature of an oath, was permitted to testify.

“Harry,” said Mr. Balfour, “were you ever in Mr. Belcher’s house?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell us how it happened that you were there.”

“Mr. Belcher stopped me in the street, and led me up the steps, and then up stairs into his room.”

“What question did he ask you?”

“He wanted to know whether my father was alive.”

“Did he offer you money if you would tell?”

“Yes, sir; he offered me a great gold piece of money, and told me it was an eagle.”

“Did you take it?”

“No, sir.”

“Did he threaten you?”

“He tried to scare me, sir.”

“Did he tell you that he should like to give your father some money?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And did you tell him that your father was alive?”

“No, sir, I ran away;” and Harry could not restrain a laugh at the remembrance of the scene.

“Harry, is your father in this room?”

Harry looked at his father with a smile, and answered, “Yes, sir.”

“Now, Harry, I want you to pick him out from all these people.  Be sure not to make any mistake.  Mr. Belcher has been so anxious to find him, that I presume he will be very much obliged to you for the information.  Go and put your hand on him.”

Harry started at a run, and, dodging around the end of the bar, threw himself into his father’s arms.  The performance seemed so comical to the lad, that he burst into a peal of boyish laughter, and the scene had such a pretty touch of nature in it, that the spectators cheered, and were only checked by the stern reprimand of the judge, who threatened the clearing of the room if such a demonstration should again be indulged in.