"You know I am."
"I want the bench to have it from you; kindly answer my question."
"I am the patron of the living of Long Stow," said Sir Wilton, with mock resignation.
"In the year 1880 did you, of your own free will and accord, present that living to me?"
"Yes, and I've repented it ever since!"
There was a sympathetic murmur at the back of the court. It was immediately checked. Every face was thrust forward, every ear strained, every eye absorbed between the prisoner in the dock and the witness in the box. It was no longer the uphill fight of one against many; it was single combat between man and man, and the electricity of single combat charged the air.
"You have repented it more than ever of late?" asked Carlton in steady tones. The skin upon his forehead seemed stretched with pain; the veins showed blue and swollen; but the many judged him from his voice alone.
"Naturally," sneered Sir Wilton.
"So much so that you were resolved I should resign?"
"I hoped you would have the decency to do so."