“A very commendable spirit,” cried the veteran. “Come, gentlemen, this business brightens. I confess, at first it was very bad, but no man can censure him for desiring to see his parent.”
“And have you proof that such only was your intention?”
“Yes—here,” said Henry, admitting a ray of hope; “here is proof—my father, my sister, Major Dunwoodie, all know it.”
“Then, indeed,” returned the immovable judge, “we may be able to save you. It would be well, sir, to examine further into this business.”
“Certainly,” said the president, with alacrity. “Let the elder Mr. Wharton approach and take the oath.”
The father made an effort at composure, and, advancing with a feeble step, he complied with the necessary forms of the court.
“You are the father of the prisoner?” said Colonel Singleton, in a subdued voice.
“He is my only son.”
“And what do you know of his visit to your house on the twenty-ninth day of October last?”
“He came, as he told you, to see me and his sisters.”