"My lord—I must crave your lordship's permission to state a fact, bearing on the case, Carr versus Carr. An unexpected witness has arisen; a most important witness; one who will testify to the abstraction from the register; one who was present when that abstraction was made. Your lordship will allow him to be heard?"
Serjeant Siftem, and Mynn and Mynn, and Squire Carr and his son Valentine, and all who espoused that side, looked contemptuous daggers of incredulity at Serjeant Wrangle. But the judge allowed the witness to be heard, for all that.
He came forward; a remarkably handsome boy, at the stage between youth and manhood. The judge put his silver glasses across his nose and gazed at him: he thought he recognised those beautiful features.
"Swear the witness," cried some official.
The witness was sworn.
"What is your name?" demanded Serjeant Wrangle.
"Henry Cheveley Arkell."
"Where do you reside?"
"In Westerbury, near the cathedral."
"You are a member of the college school and a chorister, are you not?" interposed the judge, whose remembrance had come to him.