THE

SECOND MRS. TILLOTSON.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "NEVER FORGOTTEN."

BOOK  I.

CHAPTER XVI.   ROSS V. DAVIS.

THE cathedral town was extraordinarily full;
the country gentlemen, who came in crowds,
used the well-known illustration about "swinging
a cat" with surprising frequency and
satisfaction. The White Hart was at its wits' end
to devise room for its guests, and, with an
expansion to which it was well accustomed, had
converted closets, store-rooms, even cupboards,
into sleeping- rooms; and, with a rigid
impartiality, charged the same tariff for the state
bedroom and for the meanest little hutch in
the garret. They were all labourers in the
vineyard, and the last grand juror received the
same wage as the first. For that body were
"sitting," making presentments in its "rooms,"
arguing over roads and "cess," and such
things, and were calling in "collectors," and
were behaving with a fierce despotism, which,
however, was harmless, and only confined to
the manner. For they all felt that they were the
"Jurors of Our Sovereign Lady the Queen,"
who had awful duties cast upon them. By-
and-by they would be dealing with the cases of
malefactors; and it would be surprising with
what jealous caution and importance the
witnesses would be interrogated.

The judges were already "in." The
galleries were filled, for it was well known that the
Tilneys, "those people who were always aping
at grandeur," had some case coming on. At
least it had reference to that "half-savage, ill-
conditioned" Mr. Ross, and it was much the
same thing. In the Crown Court, the faint-eyed,
well-worn judge was already at work, with the
faint eyes laid close to his note-book, while a
rude agricultural Sikh, in a fustian-jacket and
corduroy, stood up in the centre, like a living
Jack-in-the-Box. He was the prisoner in the
great shooting case, and the pen of Belmore
Jones, who himself already scented the "point"
from afar off, was racing over his foolscap,
taking notes. In the other Court, Mr. Justice
Buckstone had disposed of the "little case" in a
conversational way, just as he would dispose of
his chop behind; and leaning back with eyes
half closed, and tapping on his knuckles, was
asking Mr. Cobham if he was ready to go on
with that ejectment case. Cobham said he was
perfectly ready, with a confidence as though he
always had been, would, and ever should be
ready in every case, no matter when called on.
But the question, my lud, was the other side?
He didn't know how his learned friend, Serjeant
Ryder, felt; whether he was not taken by
surprise through the rapid but satisfactory way in
which his lordship had disposed of the last
case.

"We had better have him in," said his
lordship. Still Mr. Cobham whispers behind
the back of his hand, and over his brother's
shoulder, to his solicitor. The solicitor shakes
his head, but turns to his neighbour, who is
Ross, feverish and impatient. In a moment
the heads of the two are together.

"You should settle," said Mr. Cobham,
behind his hand. "Take my advice, we've no
chance."

Ross drew back, looking blank. "No," he
said, bluntly; "go on with your speech. You
must."

"Mr. Cobham," said his lordship, with the
points of his fingers neatly put, looking from
side to side, and cracking his fingers faintly on
his knuckles.

Presently there was a turning of faces, a
rustling and a struggling, and the serjeant,
labouring in, as it were, cutting a path through
his fellow-creatures. He was ready, always
was; in fact, was a little surprised it had not
been taken before. Everybody being ready, a
jury is sworn—a dogged, agricultural,
embarrassed-looking jury—and Mr. Paget is about
rising to open the pleadings. Suddenly the
serjeant put his hands together, and with an
oily smile of expostulation, said, "Really, now!
The list is heavy, and unless we take our
lodgings by the year——"

A little of obsequious legal hilarity greeted
this humorous remark. Mr. Cobham looked
round angrily at his junior, and said, "Get
along, do."

Mr. Paget opened the pleadings; this was
an ejectment, brought to recover possession
of the lands known as Davis Mount. The
defendant, Oliver Davis, pleaded, &c., "and the
issues that you will have now to try,"
continued Mr. Paget, raising his voice, "are
whether, &c.," according to the usual form.