“What means this, Mr. Sheriff?”
“It is my Lord Wallincourt, my Lord, who has just rescued from the wreck three men who persisted in being lost together rather than separate. Hitherto only one man was taken at each trip of the boat; but this young nobleman offered a thousand pounds to the crew who would accompany him, and it appears they have succeeded.”
“Really, my Lords,” said O'Halloran, who had heard the honorable mention of a hated name, “I must abandon my client's cause. These interruptions, which I conclude your influence is powerless to remove, have so interfered with the line of defence I had laid down for adoption, and have so confused the order of the proofs I had prepared, that I should but injure, and not serve, my respected client by continuing to represent his interests.”
A bland assurance from the court that order should be rigidly enforced, and a pressing remonstrance from O'Reilly, overcame a resolve scarcely maturely taken, and he consented to go on.
“We will now, my Lords,” said he, “call a very material witness,—a respectable tenant on the property,—who will prove that on a day in November, antecedent to Gleeson's death, he had a conversation with the Knight of Gwynne—Really, my Lords, I cannot proceed; this is no longer a court of justice.”
The remainder of his words were lost in an uproar like that of the sea itself; and, like that element, the great mass swelled forward, and a rush of people from the outer hall bore into the court, till seats and barriers gave way before that overwhelming throng.
For some minutes the scene was one of almost personal conflict. The mob, driven forward by those behind, were obliged to endure a buffeting by the more recognized possessors of the place; nor was it till police and military had lent their aid that the court was again restored to quiet, while several of the rioters were led off in custody.
“Who are these men, and to what purpose are they here?” said the Chief Baron, as Bicknell officiously exerted himself to make way for some persons behind.
“I come to tender my evidence in this cause,” said a deep, solemn voice, as a man advanced to the witness-table, displaying to the amazed assembly a bold, intrepid countenance, on which streaks of blue and yellow color were fantastically mingled, like the war-paint of a savage.
“Who are you, sir?” rejoined O'Halloran, with his habitual scowl.