As the market clock sounded out eleven strokes, a door at the side of the dais opened, and the stipendiary magistrate, the presiding genius of the place, appeared. He had rather an imposing port, which was helped by his full gray beard and large gold spectacles. Behind came Mr. Drummond and Mr. Brown, who at his invitation took seats upon the sofa.
Having adjusted himself comfortably at the central desk, he directed the clerk, who sat in an enclosure behind him, to open the court.
A number of "drunk and disorderly" cases, which were represented by a row of men and women in various stages of rags and frowziness, had first to be disposed of, the routine being to call up the policeman who had made the arrest, listen to his statement, and without further inquiry impose fines of "five dollars, or twenty days," or "ten dollars, or forty days," according to the gravity of the offence.
At length the dock was cleared of its unsavoury tenants, and the clerk called the case of "The Queen versus John Connors."
A perceptible stir and murmur ran through the crowd when Connors came forward. He certainly had not the appearance of a criminal, and despite his evident distress at his situation, there was nothing in his bearing to indicate guilt. He had secured the services of Mr. Morton, the leading criminal lawyer, and was permitted to take his seat beside him, instead of being placed in the dock. There seemed something reproachful in the glance he gave his employers, as though to say, "You ought to have had more faith in me than to put me here."
The preliminary formalities being gone through with, the examination of the witnesses was entered upon. Mr. Drummond, Mr. Brown, the officers of the blockade-runner, and Mr. Hobart gave their evidence one after another, while Terry listened to every question and answer as though his own life depended upon the result. His mind was in a state of the utmost distress and indecision. His turn would come soon. How much should he tell? No one could have any idea of what he knew. Must he betray his father, or had he the right to maintain silence?
Never in his life before had he been brought face to face with so perplexing a moral problem, and his early training was indeed a poor preparation for its right solution. Indeed, had he been left to decide it by the standards of that training, it would have been quickly done; but during his short stay with Mr. Sargent in Boston a new view of life had come to him, in the light of which he saw his duty as he had never done before.
He looked longingly at Mr. Hobart, for he felt that a good talk with him would be a wonderful help in straightening matters out; but there was no chance of that now, and he had come no nearer a decision when he heard his name called by the clerk.
Dazed, and trembling in every limb, he entered the witness box, and took tight hold of the front rail, for it seemed as though his knees would sink under him. In consideration of his youth and manifest perturbation, the prosecuting attorney questioned him very gently and briefly as to what he knew, and Terry having told about seeing the bag locked up in the desk, hoped that the ordeal was over.
But to his dismay Mr. Morton now took him in hand, adjusting his gold spectacles so as to look straight through them into the boy's face; and assuming a very confident air, as though he knew all about it, the renowned cross-examiner said,—