Marston trembles and turns pale; his soul is pinioned between
hope and fear. Romescos has told something more than he knows, and
continues, at random, recounting a dozen or more irrelevant things.
The court, at length, deems it necessary to stop his voluntary
testimony, orders that he only answer such questions as are put to
him.
"There's no harm in a feller tellin' what he knows, eh! judge?"
returns Romescos, dropping a quid of tobacco at his side, bowing
sarcastically to the judge, and drawing his face into a comical
picture.
Mr. Romescos is told that he can stand aside. At this seemingly
acceptable announcement, he bristles his crispy red hair with his
fingers, shrugs his shoulders, winks at two or three of the jurymen,
pats Graspum on the shoulder as he passes him, and takes his seat.
"We will close the case here, but reserve the right of introducing
further testimony, if necessary," says the learned and very
honourable counsel.
The defence here rises, and states the means by which his client
intends to prove the freedom of the children; and concludes by
calling over the names of the witnesses. Franconia! Franconia! we
hear that name called; it sounds high above the others, and falls
upon our ear most mournfully. Franconia, that sweet creature of
grace and delicacy, brought into a court where the scales of
injustice are made to serve iniquity!
Franconia's reserve and modesty put legal gentlemen's gallantry to
the test. One looks over the pages of his reports, another casts a
sly look as she sweeps by to take that place the basest of men has
just left.
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