me, Mr. Tilney, we shall be shorter." Now, had
he ever heard any allusion in the family to this
Scotch marriage—any discussion, you know—
and when?

Mr. Tilney put a long first finger to his forehead,
in the shape of a large human knocker, as
who would say, "I will rap here, and find out
for you." And then, after thinking painfully,
said that about twenty years ago he remembered
distinctly being at the table of General Ogle,
who was then Colonel Ogle, and equerry to his
Royal Highness the Dook of York. He had served
in the disastrous Walcheren——

"In short," said Mr. Paget, "he dined with
you. Any one else?"

"I could tell you," said Mr. Tilney, "the
names of every one there, just as if it were yesterday;
only give me a little time. There was——"

"Never mind that" said Mr. Paget. " as
there a John Davis there, cousin of the settlor?"

"There was," said Mr. Tilney, with the
knocker up, and seeing the cousin up in the
cornice. "There was; and there was also——"

"Very good. Now let me ask you, did any
one say anything about this matter of the
marriage?"

"I distinctly recollect," said Mr. Tilney,
solemnly—" and I know that I am on my oath,
and in presence of the searcher of hearts—
General Ogle, then Colonel Ogle—I recollect his
saying distinctly——"

Again the serjeant was standing up. "I
must interpose here, my lord. This can't be
evidence."

"General Ogle said that William Oliver Davis
had told him——"

"Will you stop, sir?" said the serjeant.
"D'ye hear me, sir? Is that Ogle alive or
dead?"

"I can't take on me to say," said Mr. Tilney,
wisely. "No, no. Not that."

"Exactly," said the serjeant. "Then your
lordship sees at once this can't be evidence."

"I don't see that," said his lordship, with
a pleasant twinkle.

Mr. Cobham started up. "Ogle," he said,
"was a relation of the Davis family."

"Let them prove the death of Ogle, or call
Ogle," said the serjeant, excitedly; "but let us
keep to the common principles of evidence."

Mr. Justice Buckstone said, however, he
was inclined to admit this piece of evidence de
bene esse, "as family repute," and that he
would make a note of the objection. There
was then a discussion as to what amounted to
"family repute."

Again the serjeant lay back resignedly, and
looking from side to side.

"Go on, sir," he said, "go on. Tell your
story any way you like."

And then Mr. Tilney said how Colonel Ogle
had told him how William Oliver had come to
him in a maudlin state, saying that he was
undone, and that there was a wretched woman in
Scotland who had entangled him in some of their
infernal marriage tricks, and that he was a
miserable creature generally.

Mr. Cobham, during this important bit of
evidence, had his eyes fixed on the jury with an
expression almost amounting to—" What did I
tell you, now?" and nodded very often as Mr.
Tilney told his tale.

It was very hard to get that gentleman out of
the box; for when dismissed with a "That will
do, Mr. Tilney," he would wave off that congé
with a "Pardon me!" and begin again with
fresh but unimportant details, which, as it were,
lay on his conscience.

"Quite right, Mr. Tilney; now you can go."

"Pardon me," he said. "I have taken an,
affidavit here to tell every particle of the truth,
the entire substratum of the truth, and nothing
whatever but the truth—without fear, favour,
or affection. His lordship, I know, would not
wish me."

Then two highly important letters were handed
in of remote date, which alluded to conversations
with William Oliver Davis in reference to his
marriage. These were objected to, on the ground
of post lis mota, that is, as having been
written at a time after the question of the
disputed marriage had arisen.

This was fiercely argued on both sides, as it
was really important evidence. And the two
counsel seemed to be straining and toiling to
throw each other like Cumberland wrestlers.
But the judge again said, with a smile, "He
was inclined to let it in de bene esse." On which
Serjeant Ryder flung himself into his seat angrily,
and said "He thought he had learned the rules
of evidence when he was a boy, but it seemed
he must begin again. God bless him! what were
they coming to?" And he bade his learned friend
—and almost commanded him—"go on."
Some one near Mr. Cobham heard him whisper
exultingly behind the back of his hand, "We
got that in cleverly—eh? Old Buckstone is
with us breast high."

CHAPTER XVII. THE VERDICT.

AFTER this, the case proceeded rapidly. The
defendants had little evidence. But Serjeant
Ryder made a "splendid" and damaging speech,
showing up the deaf, infirm, incoherent old
convict "whom they had got" enlarged from his
sentence expressly for this case, and invariably
speaking of him as "the old convict," "my
learned friend's old convict," "their convict,"
for this indeed we have the convict's
testimony," with more to the like effect, which someway
depreciated the character of the plaintiff's
case. He denounced the whole as a "concocted
case," made the roof re-echo with that word, and
those at a distance only caught the middle syllable,
and thought he was declaiming about poultry.
Out in the great hall, down the long corridors,
drifted those burning accents of "the
counsellor's," denouncing the whole, with a gasp, as a
"hideous tr-r-rumped-up case—concocted thing
—concocted in its inception, concocted in its
execution, concocted at the beginning, concocted
in the middle, concocted at the end." And he
asked them confidently (and at the same time