At that, Mr. Roland, who by this time was standing in a sullen manner against a pillar of the court, his violence gone, and biting his nails moodily, made a rush to the front again, heeding little who he knocked down in the process. “I’ll be bail,” he cried eagerly. “That is, Lady Augusta will—as I am not a householder. I’ll hunt her up and bring her here.”
He was turning in impetuous haste to “hunt up” Lady Augusta, when Hamish Channing imperatively waved to him to be still, and spoke to the bench.
“My father’s security will be sufficient, I presume?”
“Quite so.”
Since Mr. Channing’s incapacity, power to sign and to act for him had been vested in Hamish; and the matter was concluded at once. The court poured out its crowd. Hamish was on the point of taking Arthur’s arm, but was pushed aside by Roland Yorke, who seized upon it as if he could never make enough of him.
“The miserable idiots! to bring such a charge against you, Arthur! I have been half mad ever since I heard of it.”
“Thank you, Yorke. You are very kind—”
“‘Kind!’ Don’t talk that school-girl rubbish!” passionately interrupted Roland. “If I were taken up upon a false charge, wouldn’t you stand by me?”
“That I would; were it false or true.”
“I’ll pay that Butterby out, if it’s ten years hence! And you, knowing your own innocence, could stand before them there, meek-faced as a tame cat, letting Butterby and the bench have it their own way! A calm temper, such as yours, Arthur, may be very—what do they call it?—Christian; but I’m blest if it’s useful! I should have made their ears tingle, had they put me there, as they have not tingled for many a day.”