The learned counsel sat down with rather a baffled air, and I observed a faint smile spread over the countenance of my colleague.

"Arabella Hornby."

A m.u.f.fled whimpering from my neighbour on the left hand was accompanied by a wild rustling of silk. Glancing at Mrs. Hornby, I saw her stagger from the bench, shaking like a jelly, mopping her eyes with her handkerchief and grasping her open purse. She entered the witness-box, and, having gazed wildly round the court, began to search the mult.i.tudinous compartments of her purse.

"The evidence you shall give," sang out the usher-whereat Mrs. Hornby paused in her search and stared at him apprehensively-"to the court and jury sworn, between our Sovereign Lord the King and the prisoner at the bar shall be the truth,-"

"Certainly," said Mrs. Hornby stiffly, "I-"

"-the whole truth, and nothing but the truth; so help you G.o.d!"

He held out the Testament, which she took from him with a trembling hand and forthwith dropped with a resounding bang on to the floor of the witness-box, diving after it with such precipitancy that her bonnet jammed violently against the rail of the box.

She disappeared from view for a moment, and then rose from the depths with a purple face and her bonnet flattened and c.o.c.ked over one ear like an artillery-man's forage cap.

"Kiss the Book, if you please," said the usher, suppressing a grin by an heroic effort, as Mrs. Hornby, enc.u.mbered by her purse, her handkerchief and the Testament, struggled to unfasten her bonnet-strings. She clawed frantically at her bonnet, and, having dusted the Testament with her handkerchief, kissed it tenderly and laid it on the rail of the box, whence it fell instantly on to the floor of the court.

"I am really very sorry!" exclaimed Mrs. Hornby, leaning over the rail to address the usher as he stooped to pick up the Book, and discharging on to his back a stream of coins, b.u.t.tons and folded bills from her open purse; "you will think me very awkward, I'm afraid."

She mopped her face and replaced her bonnet rakishly on one side, as Anstey rose and pa.s.sed a small red book across to her.

"Kindly look at that book, Mrs. Hornby."

"I'd rather not," said she, with a gesture of repugnance. "It is a.s.sociated with matters of so extremely disagreeable a character-"

"Do you recognise it?"

"Do I recognise it! How can you ask me such a question when you must know-"

"Answer the question," interposed the judge. "Do you or do you not recognise the book in your hand?"

"Of course I recognise it. How could I fail to-"

"Then say so," said the judge.

"I have said so," retorted Mrs. Hornby indignantly.

The judge nodded to Anstey, who then continued-"It is called a 'Thumbograph,' I believe."

"Yes: the name 'Thumbograph' is printed on the cover, so I suppose that is what it is called."

"Will you tell us, Mrs. Hornby, how the 'Thumbograph' came into your possession?"

For one moment Mrs. Hornby stared wildly at her interrogator; then she s.n.a.t.c.hed a paper from her purse, unfolded it, gazed at it with an expression of dismay, and crumpled it up in the palm of her hand.

"You are asked a question," said the judge.

"Oh! yes," said Mrs. Hornby. "The Committee of the Society-no, that is the wrong one-I mean Walter, you know-at least-"

"I beg your pardon," said Anstey, with polite gravity.

"You were speaking of the committee of some society," interposed the judge. "What society were you referring to?"

Mrs. Hornby spread out the paper and, after a glance at it, replied-

"The Society of Paralysed Idiots, your worship," whereat a rumble of suppressed laughter arose from the gallery.

"But what has that society to do with the 'Thumbograph'?" inquired the judge.

"Nothing, your worship. Nothing at all."

"Then why did you refer to it?"

"I am sure I don't know," said Mrs. Hornby, wiping her eyes with the paper and then hastily exchanging it for her handkerchief.

The judge took off his gla.s.ses and gazed at Mrs. Hornby with an expression of bewilderment. Then he turned to the counsel and said in a weary voice-"Proceed, if you please, Mr. Anstey."

"Can you tell us, Mrs. Hornby, how the 'Thumbograph' came into your possession?" said the latter in persuasive accents.

"I thought it was Walter, and so did my niece, but Walter says it was not, and he ought to know, being young and having a most excellent memory, as I had myself when I was his age, and really, you know, it can't possibly matter where I got the thing-"

"But it does matter," interrupted Anstey. "We wish particularly to know."

"If you mean that you wish to get one like it-"

"We do not," said Anstey. "We wish to know how that particular 'Thumbograph' came into your possession. Did you, for instance, buy it yourself, or was it given to you by someone?"

"Walter says I bought it myself, but I thought he gave it to me, but he says he did not, and you see-"

"Never mind what Walter says. What is your own impression?"

"Why I still think that he gave it to me, though, of course, seeing that my memory is not what it was-"

"You think that Walter gave it to you?"

"Yes, in fact I feel sure he did, and so does my niece."

"Walter is your nephew, Walter Hornby?"

"Yes, of course. I thought you knew."

"Can you recall the occasion on which the 'Thumbograph' was given to you?"

"Oh yes, quite distinctly. We had some people to dinner-some people named Colley-not the Dorsetshire Colleys, you know, although they are exceedingly nice people, as I have no doubt the other Colleys are, too, when you know them, but we don't. Well, after dinner we were a little dull and rather at a loss, because Juliet, my niece, you know, had cut her finger and couldn't play the piano excepting with the left hand, and that is so monotonous as well as fatiguing, and the Colleys are not musical, excepting Adolphus, who plays the trombone, but he hadn't got it with him, and then, fortunately, Walter came in and brought the 'Thumbograph' and took all our thumb-prints and his own as well, and we were very much amused, and Matilda Colley-that is the eldest daughter but one-said that Reuben jogged her elbow, but that was only an excuse-"

"Exactly," interrupted Anstey. "And you recollect quite clearly that your nephew Walter gave you the 'Thumbograph' on that occasion?"

"Oh, distinctly; though, you know, he is really my husband's nephew-"