Orley Farm

Torrington was a little old man, and Graham had watched how his hands had trembled when Sir Richard first addressed him. But Sir Richard had been very kind⁠—as was natural to his own witness, and the old man had gradually regained his courage. But now as he turned his face round to the side where he knew that he might expect to find an enemy, that tremor again came upon him, and the stick which he held in his hand was heard as it tapped gently against the side of the witness-box. Graham, as he rose to his work, saw that Mr. Chaffanbrass had fixed his eye upon him, and his courage rose the higher within him as he felt the gaze of the man whom he so much disliked. Was it within the compass of his heart to bully an old man because such a one as Chaffanbrass desired it of him? By heaven, no!

He first asked Mr. Torrington his age, and having been told that he was over seventy, Graham went on to assure him that nothing which could be avoided should be said to disturb his comfort. “And now, Mr. Torrington,” he asked, “will you tell me whether you are a friend of Mr. Dockwrath’s, or have had any acquaintance with him previous to the affairs of this trial?” This question he repeated in various forms, but always in a mild voice, and without the appearance of any disbelief in the answers which were given to him. All these questions Torrington answered by a plain negative. He had never seen Dockwrath till the attorney had come to him on the matter of that partnership deed. He had never eaten or drunk with him, nor had there ever been between them any conversation of a confidential nature. “That will do, Mr. Torrington,” said Graham; and as he sat down, he again turned round and looked Mr. Chaffanbrass full in the face.

After that nothing further of interest was done that day. A few unimportant witnesses were examined on legal points, and then the court was adjourned.

LXIX

The Two Judges

Felix Graham as he left the Alston courthouse on the close of the first day of the trial was not in a happy state of mind. He did not actually accuse himself of having omitted any duty which he owed to his client; but he did accuse himself of having undertaken a duty for which he felt himself to be manifestly unfit. Would it not have been better, as he said to himself, for that poor lady to have had any other possible advocate than himself? Then as he passed out in the company of Mr. Furnival and Mr. Chaffanbrass, the latter looked at him with a scorn which he did not know how to return. In his heart he could do so; and should words be spoken between them on the subject, he would be well able and willing enough to defend himself. But had he attempted to bandy looks with Mr. Chaffanbrass, it would have seemed even to himself that he was proclaiming his resolution to put himself in opposition to his colleagues.

He felt as though he were engaged to fight a battle in which truth and justice, nay heaven itself must be against him. How can a man put his heart to the proof of an assertion in the truth of which he himself has no belief? That though guilty this lady should be treated with the utmost mercy compatible with the law;⁠—for so much, had her guilt stood forward as acknowledged, he could have pleaded with all the eloquence that was in him. He could still pity her, sympathise with her, fight for her on such ground as that; but was it possible that he, believing her to be false, should stand up before the crowd assembled in that court, and use such intellect as God had given him in making others think that the false and the guilty one was true and innocent, and that those accusers were false and guilty whom he knew to be true and innocent?

It had been arranged that Baron Maltby should stay that night at Noningsby. The brother-judges therefore occupied the Noningsby carriage together, and Graham was driven back in a dogcart by Augustus Staveley.

“Well, old boy,” said Augustus, “you did not soil your conscience much by bullying that fellow.”

“No, I did not,” said Graham; and then he was silent.

“Chaffanbrass made an uncommonly ugly show of the Hamworth attorney,” said Augustus, after a pause; but to this Graham at first made no answer.

“If I were on the jury,” continued the other, “I would not believe a single word that came from that fellow’s mouth, unless it were fully supported by other testimony. Nor will the jury believe him.”

“I tell you what, Staveley,” said Graham, “you will oblige me greatly in this matter if you will not speak to me of the trial till it is over.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“No; don’t do that. Nothing can be more natural than that you and I should discuss it together in all its bearings. But there are reasons, which I will explain to you afterwards, why I would rather not do so.”

“All right,” said Augustus. “I’ll not say another word.”

“And for my part, I will get through the work as well as I may.” And then they both sat silent in the gig till they came to the corner of Noningsby wall.

“And is that other subject tabooed also?” said Augustus.

“What other subject?”

“That as to which we said something when you were last here⁠—touching my sister Madeline.”

Graham felt that his face was on fire, but he did not know how to answer. “In that it is for you to decide whether or no there should be silence between us,” he said at last.

“I certainly do not wish that there should be any secret between us,” said Augustus.

“Then there shall be none. It is my intention to make an offer to