“Most completely. But to my story. This woman, who was charged with abandoning her offspring, was not so bad as people were led to suppose. The father of her child was your own son—was Mr. Robert Everhard Kensett—he went to sea, and the ship he set sail in foundered, and all hands on board were lost.”
The magistrate uttered a groan.
“He was not only the father of the child but the husband of its mother.”
“I never can—I never will believe it,” cried Mr. Kensett, in an agonised tone of voice. “It is not possible.”
“It is not only possible but an actual fact. You might have read the Roman history, sir. It is possible that you might have heard of Brutus, the first consul. However, it is very certain you did not attempt to imitate him. You aided your daughter-in-law to escape from this house, gave her some money and exacted a solemn oath from her that she would never trouble you again. That is true—is it not?”
“I will not deny it. It is true.”
“Then it appears to me that you are in my power.”
The magistrate tried to collect his bewildered thoughts.
“On that night,” said he, “there was a legal paper in the possession of the prisoner. I was, therefore, in her power, but were you to state these circumstances in court you would not be believed.”
Sutherland smiled.