The sheriff, meantime, had given Lord Rotherwood and Lady Merrifield
seats near the judge, where Miss Mohun was already installed. Alfred
Flinders was already at the bar, and for the first time Lady Merrifield
saw his somewhat handsome but shifty-looking face and red beard, as the
counsel for the prosecution was giving a detailed account of his
embarrassed finances, and of his having obtained from the inexperienced
kindness of a young lady, a mere child in age, who called him uncle,
though without blood relationship, a draft of her father's for seven
pounds, which, when presented at the bank, had become one for seventy.
As before, the presenting and cashing of the seventy pounds was sworn
to by the banker's clerk, and then Dolores Mary Mohun was called.
There she stood, looking smaller than usual in her black, close-fitting
dress and hat, in a place meant for grown people, her dark face pale
and set, keeping her eyes as much as she could from the prisoner. When
the counsel spoke she gave a little start, for she knew him, as one who
had often spent an evening with her parents, in the cheerful times
while her mother lived. There was something in the familiar glance of
his eyes that encouraged her, though he looked so much altered by his
wig and gown, and it seemed strange that he should question her, as a
stranger, on her exact name and age, her father's absence, the
connection with the prisoner, and present residence. Then came:
'Did your father leave any money with you?'
'Yes.
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