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Updated: May 14, 2025
Eavesdroppers never do hear good of themselves. But he thinks he hears the voice of a person whom no one in this court-room ever heard of or thought of before, nor has seen or heard of since a person who, I daresay, has existence only in this child's imagination; he thinks he hears this person declare that he, Ralph, is not Robert Burnham's son, and, by way of embellishing his tale, he adds statements which are still more absurd, statements on the strength of which my learned friend hopes to darken in your eyes the character of the counsel for the plaintiff.
Many were discharged, and the ranks continued to decrease daily. On December 24th, Lieutenant-Colonel Cheney, in consequence of the severity of his wound was compelled to resign, and two days after, Adjutant John H. Burnham was promoted to be Lieutenant Colonel, and took command, Colonel Beach being absent, sick. Colonel Burnham's promotion was the making of the regiment.
Burnham glanced at Miss Pilcher. "Perhaps," Miss Pilcher suggested to her companion, "it would be as well for you to mention your impressions." Mrs. Burnham's manner became additionally cautious. She bent forward slightly. "My dear," she said, "has it struck you that Lady Theobald has any intentions, so to speak?" "Intentions?" repeated Mrs. Egerton. "Yes," with deep significance, "so to speak.
John Burnham's examination was first for Jason that morning, and when the boy came into the recitation-room the school-master was shocked by the tumult in his face.
Pendleton was waiting in the porch when the colonel rode to the stile, and the distress in her face was so plain even that far away, that the colonel hurried up the walk, and there was no greeting between the two: "It's Marjorie, Robert," she said simply, and the old gentleman, who had seen Jason come out of the yard gate and gallop toward John Burnham's, guessed what the matter was, and he took the slim white hands that were clenched together and patted them gently: "There there!
He cared nothing now for the weakness of Sharpman, for the cunning of Craft, for the verdict of the jury, for the judgment of the court; he knew, at last, that he was Robert Burnham's son, and no power on earth could have shaken that belief by the breadth of a single hair. The scene on the descending carriage the day his father died came back into his mind.
Burnham's face lighted with amusement, and, as she took the chair Miss Gibbie pushed toward her, she brushed back the stray strands of hair the breeze had blown across her face, and fastened them securely.
Looking up instinctively on her side, Mrs. Crayford became aware of the presence, in the conservatory, of a young gentleman who was claiming Clara as his partner in the coming waltz. Mrs. Crayford fell into thinking once more. Was this the true secret of Clara Burnham's terror at the impending return of Richard Wardour? Mrs. Crayford decided on putting her doubts to the test.
We are clearing away the wreckage from the mouth of the shaft as rapidly as possible, in the hope that we may get down there in time to save his life. Our people have directed me to spare no effort in this matter. One life, even though it is that of an unknown boy, is not too poor a thing for us to try, by every possible means, to save." "That boy," said Goodlaw, "is Mrs. Burnham's son."
Burnham's attorney, denying that Ralph was the son of Robert Burnham, and an issue had been asked for to try that disputed fact. The issue had been awarded, and the case certified to the Common Pleas for trial, and placed on the trial list for the May term of court. As the time for the hearing approached, the preparations for it grew more active and incessant about Sharpman's office.
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