There was a storm of shames and hisses; but the judge allayed it, quietly saying,

“Mr. Sharp, be so good as to confine your attention to your client; he appears to be quite worthy of you.”

Then Mr. Sharp, like the firm just man immortalized by Flaccus, stood stout against the visage of the judge, sneered at the wrath of citizens commanding things unjust, turned to Ben Burke minaciously, calling him “Dux inquieti turbidus Adriae” [as Burke had heard this quotation, he thought it was about the “ducks” he had been decoying], and altogether seemed not about to be put down, though the huge globe crack about his ears.  After this, he calmly worded on, seeming to regard the judge’s stinging observation with the same sort of indifference as the lion would a dew-drop on his mane; and having poured out all manner of voluminous bombast, he gradually ran down, and came to a conclusion; then, jumping up refreshed, like the bounding of a tennis-ball, he proceeded to call witnesses; and, judging from what happened at the inquest, as well as because he wished to overwhelm a suspected and suspecting witness, he pounced, somewhat infelicitously, on Jonathan Floyd.

“So, my fine young fellow, you are a footman, eh, at Hurstley?”

“Yes, sir, an’ it please you—­or rather, an’ it please my master.”

“You remember what happened on the night of the late Mrs. Quarles’s decease?”

“Oh, many things happened; Mr. Jennings was lost, he wasn’t to be found, he was hid somewhere, nobody saw him till next morning.”

“Stop, sirrah! not quite so quick, if you please; you are on your oath, be careful what you say.  I have it in evidence, sirrah, before the coroner;” and he looked triumphantly about him at this clencher to all Jonathan’s testimony; “that you saw him yourself that night speaking to the dog; what do you mean by swearing that nobody saw him till next morning?”

“Well, mister, I mean this; whether or no poor old Mrs. Quarles saw her affectionate nephew that night before the clock struck twelve, there’s none alive to tell; but no one else did—­for Sarah and I sat up for him till past midnight.  He was hidden away somewhere, snug enough; and as I verily believe, in the poor old ’ooman’s own—­”

“Silence, silence! sir, I say; we want none of your impertinent guesses here, if you please:  to the point, sirrah, to the point; you swore before the coroner, that you had seen Mr. Jennings, in his courage and his kindness, quieting the dog that very night, and now—­”

“Oh,” interrupted Jonathan in his turn, “for the matter of that, when I saw him with the dog, it was hard upon five in the morning.  And here, gentlemen,” added Floyd, with a promiscuous and comprehensive bow all round, “if I may speak my mind about the business—­”

“Go down, sir!” said Mr. Sharp, who began to be afraid of truths.

“Pardon me, this may be of importance,” remarked Roger Acton’s friend; “say what you have to say, young man.”