When Mr. Smoothbore had thus concluded a lengthened and impassioned
harangue, he sat down, wiping his hands upon his handkerchief, as though
implying that he had washed them of the prisoner for good and all, and
that a very dirty job it had been; while the judge rose and left the
court, it being the hour appointed to his system, by nature, for the
reception of lunch.
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE SENTENCE.
Richard remained in the dock. The warder who had charge of him gave him
the option of retiring, but he preferred to stay where he was till all
was over. He had at last caught sight of his mother, straining her
loving eyes toward him--with still some hope in them--from a distant
corner of the gallery; and he kept his gaze fixed upon that spot. They
had all the world against them now, these two, so clever, and yet so
wholly unable to combat with inexorable fate. Harry's evidence, and
especially the manner of it, had not needed Mr. Smoothbore's fiery scorn
to turn all hearts against the accused. To the great mass of spectators
it seemed as though Richard would have made the girl change places with
himself, and become a vicarious sacrifice for his worthless self.
The majesty of the law having withdrawn itself, a hum of many voices
filled the court-house; a munching of biscuits, a sipping of flasks.
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