“How long, fellow,” asked Justice Burnflat, “have you known your companion?”
“About half a year.”
“And what is his name and calling?” Paul hesitated, and declined to answer.
“A sad piece of business!” said the justice, in a melancholy tone, and shaking his head portentously.
The lawyer acquiesced in the aphorism, but with great magnanimity observed that he did not wish to be hard upon the young man. His youth was in his favour, and his offence was probably the consequence of evil company. He suggested, therefore, that as he must be perfectly aware of the address of his friend, he should receive a full pardon if he would immediately favour the magistrate with that information. He concluded by remarking, with singular philanthropy, that it was not the punishment of the youth, but the recovery of his watch, that he desired.
Justice Burnflat, having duly impressed upon our hero's mind the disinterested and Christian mercy of the complainant, and the everlasting obligation Paul was under to him for its display, now repeated, with double solemnity, those queries respecting the habitation and name of Long Ned which our hero had before declined to answer.
Grieved are we to confess that Paul, ungrateful for and wholly untouched by the beautiful benignity of Lawyer Brandon, continued firm in his stubborn denial to betray his comrade; and with equal obduracy he continued to insist upon his own innocence and unblemished respectability of character.
“Your name, young man?” quoth the justice. “Your name, you say, is Paul,—Paul what? You have many an alias, I'll be bound.”
Here the young gentleman again hesitated; at length he replied,—
“Paul Lobkins, your worship.”