‘It was not, sir. She was stolen from me by a villain, who came to my house under the disguise of friendship, and—’
Some one in the jury remarked that this was quite irrelevant to the evidence on hand, but Mr Procter ordered him to be silent.
‘This poor gentleman has sustained a double injury,’ he said. ‘Let him tell his story in his own words.’
‘I have not much more to say, gentlemen,’ resumed Mr Crampton. ‘This man, Frederick Walcheren, stole my daughter from me, and the next thing I hear is that she is dead. It is not a long story, but it is a very bitter one.’
‘And you have the full sympathy of the jury for it, Mr Crampton. I believe your daughter was your heiress. Did you threaten to make any alteration in your will if she went against your wishes?’
‘I did. I said that if she married this Walcheren, who is a Papist, she shouldn’t have a halfpenny.’
‘Did you make the same intimation to Mr Walcheren?’
‘I think not, at least personally, but I suppose she did, for they ran away together two days afterwards. And this is the end of it—this is the end.’
‘You have recognised the deceased as your daughter?’
The father broke down.