The Two Sides of the Shield

Dolores understood, and submitted more quietly and resignedly than her aunt had feared. She was a barrister’s daughter, and once or twice her father had taken her and her mother part of the way on circuit with him, and she had been in court, so that she had known from the first that if her uncle were arrested there was no choice but that she must speak out. So she only trembled very much and said—

‘Aunt Lily, are you going with me?’

‘Indeed I am, my poor child. Uncle Regie is gone on.’

No more was spoken then, but Dolores put her cold hand into her aunt’s muff.

Gillian kept all the flock prisoned in the schoolroom. Wilfred, Val, and Fergus rushed to the window, and were greatly disappointed not to see a policeman on the box, ‘taking Dolores to be tried’—as Fergus declared, and Wilfred insisted, just because Gillian and Mysie contradicted it with all their might. He continued to repeat it with variations and exaggerations, until Jasper heard him, and declared that he should have a thorough good licking if he said so again, administering a cuff by way of earnest. Wilfred howled, and was ordered not to be such an ape, and Fly looked on in wonder at the domestic discipline.

The superintendent had, in fact, walked on with Uncle Reginald, and Dolores saw nothing of him, but was put into an empty first-class carriage, into which her aunt followed her, but her uncle, observing, ‘You know how to manage her, Lily,’ betook himself to a smoking-carriage, and left them to themselves.

Dolores was never a very talking girl, and the habit of silence had grown upon her. She leant against her aunt and she put her arm round her, and did not attempt to say anything till she asked,

‘Will he be there?’

‘I don’t know, I am afraid he will. It is very sad for you, my poor Dolly; but we must recollect that, after all, it may be much better for him to be stopped now than to go on and get worse and worse in some strange country.’

Dolores did not ask what she was to do, she knew enough already about trials to understand that she was only to answer questions, and she presently said,

‘This can’t be his trial. There are no assizes now.’

‘No, this is only for the committal. It will very soon be over, if you will only answer quietly and steadily. If you do so, I think Uncle Regie will be pleased, and tell your father! I am sure I shall!’

Dolores pressed up closer and laid her cheek against the soft sealskin. In the midst of her trouble there was a strange wonder in her. Could this be really the aunt whom she had thought so cruel, unjust, and tyrannical, and from whom she had so carefully hidden her feelings? Nobody got into the carriage, and just before reaching Darminster, Lady Merrifield made a great effort over her own shyness and said,

‘Now, Dolly, we will pray a little prayer that you may be a faithful witness, and that God may turn it, all to good for your poor uncle.’

Dolores was very much surprised, and did not know whether she liked it or not, but she saw her aunt’s closed eyes and uplifted hands, and she tried to follow the example.

The train stopped, and her uncle came to the door, looking inquiringly at her.

‘She will be good and brave,’ said her aunt; and quickly passing across the platform, Dolores found herself beside her aunt, with her uncle opposite in another fly.

Things had been arranged for them considerately, and after they came to the Guildhall, where the city magistrates were sitting, Colonel Mohun went at once into court; the others were taken to a little room, and waited there a few minutes before Colonel Mohun came to call for his niece. It was a long room, with a rail at one end, and Dolores knew, with a strange thrill which made her shudder, that Mr. Flinders was there, but she could not bear to look at him, and only squeezed hard at the hand of her aunt, who asked, in a somewhat shaky voice, if she might come with her niece.

‘Certainly, certainly. Lady Merrifield,’ said one of the magistrates, and chairs were set both for her and Colonel Mohun.

‘You are Miss Mohun, I think—may I ask your Christian name in full?’ And then she had to spell it, and likewise tell her exact age, after which she was put on oath—as she knew enough of trials to expect.

‘Are you residing with Lady Merrifield?’

‘Yes.’

‘But your father is living?’

‘Yes, but he is in the Fiji Islands.’

‘Will you favour us with his exact name?’

‘Maurice Devereux Mohun.’

‘When did he leave England?’

‘The fifth of last September.’

‘Did he leave any money with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘In what form?’

‘A cheque on W–‘s Bank.

‘To bearer or order?’

‘To order.’

‘What was the date?’

‘I think it was the 31st of August, but I am not sure.’

‘For how much?’

‘For seven pounds.’

‘When did you part with it?’

‘On the Friday before Christmas Day.’

‘Did you do anything to it first?’

‘I wrote my name on the back.’

‘What did you do with it.’

‘I sent it to—’ her voice became a little hoarse, but she brought out the words—‘to Mr. Flinders.’

‘Is this the same?’

‘Yes—only some one has put ‘ty’ to the ‘seven’ in writing, and 0 to the figure 7.’

‘Can you swear to the rest as your father’s writing and your own?’

The evidence of the banker’s clerk as to the cashing of the cheque had been already taken, and the magistrate said, ‘Thank you. Miss Mohun, I think the case is complete, and we need not trouble you any more.’

But the prisoner’s voice made Dolores start and shudder again, as he said,

‘I beg your pardon, sir, but you have not asked the young lady’—there was a sort of sneer in his voice—‘how she sent this draft.’