The Court is in session, and the ten days having glided away, the old man is brought into “open Court” by two officials with long tipstaffs, and faces looking as if they had been carefully pickled in strong drinks.  “Surely, now, they’ll set me free-I can give them no more-I am old and infirm-they have got all-and my daughter!” he muses within himself.  Ah! he little knows how uncertain a thing is the law.

The Judge is engaged over a case in which two very fine old families are disputing for the blood and bones of a little “nigger” girl.  The possession of this helpless slave, the Judge (he sits in easy dignity) very naturally regards of superior importance when compared with the freedom of a “poor debtor.”  He cannot listen to the story of destitution-precisely what was sought by Keepum-to-day, and to-morrow the Court adjourns for six months.

The Antiquary is remanded back to his cell.  No one in Court cares for him; no one has a thought for the achings of that heart his release would unburden; the sorrows of that lone girl are known only to herself and the One in whom she puts her trust.  She, nevertheless, seeks the old man in his prison, and there comforts him as best she can.

Five days more, and the “prisoner” is brought before the Commissioner for Special Bail, who is no less a personage than the rosy-faced Clerk of the Court, just adjourned.  And here we cannot forbear to say, that however despicable the object sought, however barren of right the plea, however adverse to common humanity the spirit of the action, there is always to be found some legal gentleman, true to the lower instincts of the profession, ready to lend himself to his client’s motives.  And in this instance, the cunning Keepum finds an excellent instrument of furthering his ends, in one Peter Crimpton, a somewhat faded and rather disreputable member of the learned profession.  It is said of Crimpton, that he is clever at managing cases where oppression rather than justice is sought, and that his present client furnishes the larger half of his practice.

And while Maria, too sensitive to face the gaze of the coarse crowd, pauses without, silent and anxious, listening one moment and hoping the next will see her old father restored to her, the adroit Crimpton rises to object to “the Schedule.”  To the end that he may substantiate his objections, he proposes to examine the prisoner.  Having no alternative, the Commissioner grants the request.

The old Antiquary made out his schedule with the aid of the good-hearted jailer, who inserted as his effects, “Necessary wearing apparel.”  It was all he had.  Like the gallant Fremont, when he offered to resign his shirts to his chivalric creditor, he could give them no more.  A few questions are put; the old man answers them with childlike simplicity, then sits down, his trembling fingers wandering into his beard.  Mr. Crimpton produces his paper, sets forth his objections, and asks permission to file them, that the case may come before a jury of “Special Bail.”