"Nor has he. But he is the one who profits most by the murder, since he is heir-at-law. And what a reckless and disobedient youth he has been!—always on bad terms with his father, when he was at home, and doing nothing but write letters for money, while he was in Europe. By the way, I can't help wondering if he was in Europe, all this past year; though really, I don't know why I should doubt it. Well,"—rising and looking at his watch,—"it is time to go to court."
"And, as I am feeling better to-day, I think I'll go along," said Mr. Youle. "Since you seem to think that Providence has the case very specially in His hands,—indeed, I don't mean it irreverently,—I'd like to see how He conducts it."
"I am glad to think that He is conducting it," said Bergan, in a low voice; "else I should be utterly discouraged."
The trial dragged its slow length through the greater part of the morning, without any incident of interest. One witness after another came upon the stand, was examined, and dismissed; each adding something to the weight of evidence against the prisoner, Unwick. The son of the murdered man, Varley by name, sat nearly opposite to Bergan, by the side of the prosecuting attorney; and being of a restless temperament, as well as gifted with extraordinary facility in the use of a pencil, he busied himself, as he listened to the monotonous drone of a witness, with mechanically sketching the faces of the witnesses or the spectators, or scenes and places that he had visited, recalled to his mind by the evidence, or by his own roving thoughts. One of these caught Bergan's eye, and he furtively watched its progress, while seeming to be occupied with his papers. When finished, it was carelessly dropped on the floor, like those which had preceded it; and the skilful pencil quickly set to work on a new subject. In a moment or two, Bergan dropped one of his papers, in a way to take it well under the table, and immediately stooped to get it. When he reappeared, a close observer might have noticed that the look of patient watchfulness, which his face had worn so long, was gone; but the keenest eyes would have been puzzled to read his present expression. Was it triumph, or thankfulness, or perplexity, or a mixture of all?
Mr. Varley was now put upon the stand, to furnish some small link in the chain of evidence that the prosecution was drawing so skilfully around the prisoner. The little that he was desired to say being said, the opposing counsel politely inquired if Mr. Arling had any questions to ask.
"One or two, if you please," answered Bergan, quietly; and rising, and turning toward the witness, he said:—
"I believe you stated, Mr. Varley, that you had never seen the place where your father died?"
"No; he bought it, and removed to it after I went abroad."
"Have you visited it, since your return?"
"I have not. I only got here just before the commencement of this trial, and I have been kept too busy since to find time for the trip."