Jessuron re-adjusted his spectacles, and looked at the prisoner with some show of surprise. The bystanders—stolid constable and all—seemed a little startled. Quaco, whose colossal form rose above the railings in the background, uttered a grunt of satisfaction on hearing the young man’s name—which he had not known before—a name all-powerful in the district, being that of the mighty Custos himself!
There was one upon whom the words appeared to produce an impression different from that of mere surprise. A glance of anger shot from the dark eyes of the Jewess as she heard it pronounced, and the look of sympathy for the moment disappeared. Evidently, to her the name was distasteful.
“Herbert Vochan?” repeated the Justice. “Might you be any kinshman of Mishter Vochan of Mount Welcome?”
“His nephew,” was the laconic reply.
“Ah! hish nephew! Bless me! ish that true?”
This announcement, as testified by his speech, produced a sudden commotion in the mind of the Jew-justice. From some little that was known of his secret hostility towards his neighbour of Mount Welcome—Ravener knew more than a little—it might have been expected that the discovery of the relationship of the prisoner would have put him in high glee. To be sitting in judgment upon the near kinsman of the Custos—accused of a serious crime, too—was a proud position for Jacob Jessuron, who could remember many a slight he had received from the haughty lord of Mount Welcome. What a splendid revanche!
Certainly the manner of the Justice, on learning who was before him, seemed to indicate that such were his reflections. He rubbed his skinny hands together; helped himself from his gold snuff-box; gleefully smiled from behind his glasses, which were once more shifted upon the sharp ridge of his nose; and then, bending his face forward over the table, he remained for some moments smiling, but silent and thoughtful, as if considering how he should proceed.
After a time he raised his eyes, and freshly scrutinised the prisoner—who had already returned an affirmative answer to his last query.
“Blesh my soul!—I never knew that Mishter Vochan had a nephew! You are from England, young man? Hash your uncle any more English nephews?”
“Not that I am aware of,” replied Herbert, frankly. “I believe I am his only relative of that kind—in England, at least.”