“Against the soldier?”
“No, Sir Leicester Dedlock; not the soldier.”
Sir Leicester looks astounded and inquires, “Is the man in custody?”
Mr. Bucket tells him, after a pause, “It was a woman.”
Sir Leicester leans back in his chair, and breathlessly ejaculates, “Good heaven!”
“Now, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet,” Mr. Bucket begins, standing over him with one hand spread out on the library-table and the forefinger of the other in impressive use, “it’s my duty to prepare you for a train of circumstances that may, and I go so far as to say that will, give you a shock. But Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, you are a gentleman, and I know what a gentleman is and what a gentleman is capable of. A gentleman can bear a shock when it must come, boldly and steadily. A gentleman can make up his mind to stand up against almost any blow. Why, take yourself, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet. If there’s a blow to be inflicted on you, you naturally think of your family. You ask yourself, how would all them ancestors of yours, away to Julius Caesar—not to go beyond him at present—have borne that blow; you remember scores of them that would have borne it well; and you bear it well on their accounts, and to maintain the family credit. That’s the way you argue, and that’s the way you act, Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet.”
Sir Leicester, leaning back in his chair and grasping the elbows, sits looking at him with a stony face.
“Now, Sir Leicester Dedlock,” proceeds Mr. Bucket, “thus preparing you, let me beg of you not to trouble your mind for a moment as to anything having come to my knowledge. I know so much about so many characters, high and low, that a piece of information more or less don’t