inexperienced in the ways of courts than she really was, and instructed her in much that she knew perfectly well; but it was too comfortable to have him kind to her for her to take the least offence, and she only said 'Yes' and 'Thank you' at the proper places.
The sheriff, meantime, had given Lord Rotherwood and Lady Merrifield seats near the judge, where Miss Mohun was already installed. Alfred Flinders was already at the bar, and for the first time Lady Merrifield saw his somewhat handsome but shifty-looking face and red beard, as the counsel for the prosecution was giving a detailed account of his embarrassed finances, and of his having obtained from the inexperienced kindness of a young lady, a mere child in age, who called him uncle, though without blood relationship, a draft of her father's for seven pounds, which, when presented at the bank, had become one for seventy.
As before, the presenting and cashing of the seventy pounds was sworn to by the banker's clerk, and then Dolores Mary Mohun was called.
There she stood, looking smaller than usual in her black, close-fitting dress and hat, in a place meant for grown people, her dark face pale and set, keeping her eyes as much as she could from the prisoner. When the counsel spoke she gave a little start, for she knew him, as one who had often spent an evening with her parents, in the cheerful times while her mother lived. There was something in the familiar glance of his eyes that encouraged her, though he looked so much altered by his wig and gown, and it seemed strange that he should question her, as a stranger, on her exact name and age, her father's absence, the connection with the prisoner, and present residence. Then came:
'Did your father leave any money with you?'
'Yes.'
'What was the amount?'
'Five pounds for myself; seven besides.'
'In what form was the seven pounds?'
'A cheque from W.'s bank.'
'Did you part with it?'
'Yes.'
'To whom?'
'I sent it to him.'
'To whom if you please?'
'To Mr. Alfred Flinders.' And her voice trembled.
'Can you tell me when you sent it away?'
'It was on the 22nd of December.'
'Is this the cheque?'
'It has been altered.'
'Explain in what manner?'
'There has 'ty' been put at the end of the written 'seven,' and a cipher after the figure 7 making it 70.'
'You are sure that it was not so when it went out of your possession?'
'Perfectly sure.'
Mr. Calderwood seemed to have done with her, and said, 'Thank you;' but then there stood up a barrister, whom she suspected of being a man her mother had disliked, and she knew that the worst was coming when he said, in a specially polite voice too, 'Allow me to ask whether the cheque in question had been intended by Mr. Mohun for the prisoner?'
'No.'
'Or was it given to you as pocket-money?'
'No, it was to pay a bill.'
'Then did you divert it from that purpose?'
'I thought the man was dead.'
'What man?'
'Professor Muhlwasser.'
'The creditor?'
'Yes.'
Mr. Calderwood objected to these questions as irrelevant; but the prisoner's counsel declared them to be essential, and the judge let him go on to extract from Dolores that the payment was intended for an expensive illustrated work on natural history, which was to be published in Germany. Her father had promised to take two copies of it if it were completed; but being doubtful whether this would ever be the case, he had preferred leaving a draft with her to letting the account be discharged by his brother, and he had reckoned that seven pounds would cover the expense.
'You say you supposed the author was dead. What reason had you for thinking so?'
'He told me; Mr. Flinders did.'
'Had Mr. Mohun sanctioned your applying this sum to any other purpose than that specified?'
'No, he had not. I did wrong,' said Dolores, firmly.
He wrinkled up his forehead, so that the point of his wig went upwards, and proceeded to inquire whether she had herself given the cheque to the prisoner.
'I sent it.'
'Did you post it?'
'Not myself. I gave it to Miss Constance Hacket to send it for me.'
'Can you swear to the sum for which it was drawn when you parted with it?'
'Yes. I looked at it to see whether it was pounds or guineas.'
'Did you give it loose or in an envelope?'
'In an envelope.'
'Was any other person aware of your doing so?'
'Nobody.'
'What led you to make this advance to the prisoner?'
'Because he told me that he was in great distress.'
'He told you. By letter or in person?'
'In person.'
'When did he tell you so?'
'On the 22nd of December.'
'And where?'
'At Darminster.'
'Let me ask whether this interview at Darminster took place with the knowledge of the lady with whom you reside?'
'No, it did not,' said Dolores, colouring deeply.
'Was it a chance meeting?'
'No-by appointment.'
'How was the appointment made?'
'We wrote to say we would come that day.'
'We-who was the other party?'
'Miss Constance Hacket.'
'You were then in correspondence with the prisoner. Was it with the sanction of Lady Merrifield?'
'No.'
'A secret correspondence, then, romantically carried on-by what means?'
'Constance Hacket sent the letters and received them for me.'
'What was the motive for this arrangement?'
'I knew my aunt would prevent my having anything to do with him.'
'And you-excuse me-what interest had you in doing so?'
'My mother had been like his sister, and always helped him.'
All these answers were made with a grave, resolute straightforwardness, generally with something of Dolores's peculiar stony look, and only twice was there any involuntary token of feeling, when she blushed at confessing the
