The barrister gave his head a deprecatory shake. Of course, a gentleman in his lordship's position could not be deaf.
"Very well, then," said the judge, "unless I am deaf, the prisoner pleaded guilty. I heard him, sir, with my own ears—my own ears."
The barrister thought his lordship should have said "my own ear," as the game organ ought not to count.
"Perhaps," said the judge, "perhaps the prisoner will be good enough to repeat his plea; and this time he will be good enough to speak out."
"Not guilty," said Richard again, in a firm but not a loud voice—his long imprisonment, with days, weeks, and months of slow agony, had so exhausted his physical powers, that to speak at all, under such circumstances, was an effort.
"Not guilty?" said the judge. "Why, the man doesn't know his own mind. The man must be a born idiot—he can't be right in his intellect."
Scarcely had the words passed his lordship's lips, when a long low whistle resounded through the court.
Everybody looked up towards a corner of the gallery from which the sound came, and the officials cried "Order!"
Among the rest the prisoner raised his eyes, and looking to the spot from which this unexampled and daring interruption proceeded, recognized the face of the man who had spelt out the words "Not guilty" in the railway carriage. Their eyes met: and the man signalled to Richard to watch his hands, whilst with his fingers he spelt out several words slowly and deliberately.
This occurred during the pause caused by the endeavours of the officials to discover what contumacious person had dared to whistle at the close of his lordship's remark.
The counsel for the prosecution stated the case—a very clear case it seemed too—against Richard Marwood.
"Here," said the barrister, "is the case of a young man, who, after squandering a fortune, and getting deeply in debt in his native town, leaves that town, as it is thought by all, never to return. For seven years he does not return. His widowed and lonely mother awaits in anguish for any tidings of this heartless reprobate; but, for seven long years, by not so much as one line or one word, sent through any channel whatever, does he attempt to relieve her anxiety. His townsmen believe him to be dead; his mother believes him to be dead; and it is to be presumed from his conduct that he wishes to be lost sight of by all to whom he once was dear. But at the end of this seven years, his uncle, his mother's only brother, a man of large fortune, returns from India and takes up his temporary abode
