The next morning, at ten o'clock, the court was again crowded. The judge was again on his bench, prepared for patient endurance; and Lord Killtime and Sir Gregory Hardlines were alongside of him. The jury were again in their box, ready with pen and paper to give their brightest attention—a brightness which will be dim enough before the long day be over; the counsel for the prosecution¹ were rummaging² among their papers; the witnesses for the defence were sitting there among the attorneys, with the exception of the Honourable³ Undecimus Scott, who was accommodated with a seat near the sheriff, and whose heart, to tell the truth, was sinking somewhat low within his breast, in spite of the glass of brandy with which he had fortified⁵ himself. Alaric was again present under the wings of Mr. Gitemthruet; and the great Mr. Chaffanbrass was in his place. He was leaning over a slip of paper which he held in his hand, and with compressed lips was meditating⁶ his attack upon his enemies; on this occasion his wig⁷ was well over his eyes, and as he peered up from under it to the judge's face, he cocked his nose with an air of supercilious⁸ contempt for all those who were immediately around him.