“I am no casuist, sir,” returned the youth; “but I feel that my father is entitled to my affection, and I would encounter greater risks to prove it to him in his old age.”
“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 parents.”
“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 his 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, after pausing a moment in respect for the agitation of the witness.
“He is my only son.”
“And what do you know of his visit to your house, on the 29th day of
October last?”