Imagine the unhappy Richard thus confronted, wholly unexpectedly, with a
thousand eager eyes! They devoured him on the right hand and on the
left, before him and behind him; they looked down upon him from the
galleries above with a hunger that was increased by distance. Even the
barristers in the space between him and the judge turned round to gaze
at him, and the judge himself adjusted his spectacles upon his nose to
regard him with a searching look. Not a sound was to be heard except the
monotonous voice of the clerk reading the indictment; it was plain that
every one of that vast concourse knew him, and needed not that his
neighbor should whisper, "That is he." Was his mother there? thought
Richard, and above all, Was Harry there? He looked round once upon that
peering throng; but he could catch sight of neither. The former, with a
thick veil over her features, was, indeed, watching him from a corner of
the court; but the only face he recognized was that of his attorney,
seated immediately behind a man with a wig, whom he rightly concluded to
be Mr. Sergeant Balais.
There was a sudden silence, following upon the question, "How say you,
Richard Yorke, are you guilty of this felony, or not guilty?" The
turnkey by the prisoner's side muttered harshly behind his hand, "They
have called on you to plead.
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