Sevenoaks: A Story of Today

by J. G. Holland

"I would like to ask the witness," said Mr. Cavendish, "whether he is the Paul Benedict who left the city about the time at which he testifies that he went away, in consequence of his connection with a band of counterfeiters. Did you, sir, invent their machinery, or did you not?"

"I did not," answered the witness—his face all aflame. The idea that he could be suspected, or covertly charged, with crime, in the presence of friends and strangers, was so terrible that the man tottered on his feet.

Mr. Cavendish gave a significant glance at his client, whose face bloomed with a brutal smile, and then sat down.

"Is that all?" inquired Mr. Balfour.

"All, for the present," responded Mr. Cavendish, sneeringly, and with mock courtesy.

"May it please the Court," said Mr. Balfour, "I hope I may be permitted to say that the tactics of the defendant are worthy of his cause." Then turning to Mr. Benedict, he said, "I trust the witness will not be disturbed by the insult that has been gratuitously offered him, and will tell the history which I have asked him to tell."

Mr. Cavendish had made a mistake. At this insult, and the gratification which it afforded Mr. Belcher, the inventor's pity died out of him, and he hardened to his work.

"When I went to Sevenoaks," said he, "I was very poor, as I have always been since. I visited Mr. Belcher's mill, and saw how great improvements could be made in his machines and processes; and then I visited him, and told him what I could do for him. He furnished me with money for my work, and for securing the patents on my inventions, with the verbal promise that I should share in such profits as might accrue from their use. He was the only man who had money; he was the only man who could use the inventions; and he kept me at work, until he had secured everything that he wished for. In the meantime, I suffered for the lack of the necessaries of life, and was fed from day to day, and month to month, and year to year, on promises. He never rendered me any returns, declared that the patents were nearly useless to him, and demanded, as a consideration for the money he had advanced to me, the assignment of all my patents to him. My only child was born in the midst of my early trouble, and such were the privations to which my wife was subjected that she never saw a day of health after the event. She died at last, and in the midst of my deepest troubles, Mr. Belcher pursued me with his demands for the assignment of my patents. He still held me to him by the bestowal of small sums, which necessity compelled me to accept. He always had a remarkable power over me, and I felt that he would lead me to destruction. I saw the hopes of years melting away, and knew that in time he would beat down my will, and, on his own terms, possess himself of all the results of my years of study and labor. I saw nothing but starvation before me and my child, and went down into a horror of great darkness."

A cold shiver ran over the witness, and his face grew pale and pinched, at this passage of his story. The court-house was as still as midnight. Even the General lost his smile, and leaned forward, as if the narration concerned some monster other than himself.

"What then?" inquired Mr. Balfour.