Mr. Moffat bowed his acknowledgments, and waited for his witness to take the oath, which she did with a simple grace which touched all hearts, even that of her constrained and unreconciled brother. Compelled by the silence and my own bounding pulses to look at her in my own despite, I caught the sweet and elevated look with which she laid her hand on the Book, and asked myself if her presence here was not a self-accusation, which would bring satisfaction to nobody—which would sink her and hers into an ignominy worse than the conviction of the brother whom she was supposedly there to save.
Tortured by this fear, I awaited events in indescribable agitation.
The cool voice of Mr. Moffat broke in upon my gloom. Carmel had reseated herself, after taking the oath, and the customary question could be heard:
"Your name, if you please."
"Carmel Cumberland."
"Do you recognise the prisoner, Miss Cumberland?"
"Yes; he is my brother."
A thrill ran through the room. The lingering tone, the tender accent, told. Some of the feeling she thus expressed seemed to pass into every heart which contemplated the two. From this moment on, he was looked upon with less harshness; people showed a disposition to discern innocence, where, perhaps, they had secretly desired, until now, to discover guilt.
"Miss Cumberland, will you be good enough to tell us where you were, at or near the hour of ten, on the evening of your sister's death?"
"I was in the club-house—in the house you call The Whispering Pines."
At this astounding reply, unexpected by every one present save myself and the unhappy prisoner, incredulity, seasoned with amazement, marked every countenance. Carmel Cumberland in the club-house that night—she who had been found at a late hour, in her own home, injured and unconscious! It was not to be believed—or it would not have been, if Arthur with less self-control than he had hitherto maintained, had not shown by his morose air and the silent drooping of his head that he accepted this statement, wild and improbable as it seemed. Mr. Fox, whose mind without doubt had been engaged in a debate from the first, as to the desirability of challenging the testimony of this young girl, whose faculties had so lately recovered from a condition of great shock and avowed forgetfulness that no word as yet had come to him of her restored health, started to arise at her words; but noting the prisoner's attitude, he hastily reseated himself, realising, perhaps, that evidence of which he had never dreamed lay at the bottom of the client's manner and the counsel's complacency. If so, then his own air of mingled disbelief and compassionate forbearance might strike the jury unfavourably; while, on the contrary, if his doubts were sound, and the witness were confounding the fancies of her late delirium with the actual incidents of this fatal night, then would he gain rather than lose by allowing her to proceed until her testimony fell of its own weight, or succumbed before the fire of his cross-examination.
Modifying his manner, he steadied himself for either exigency, and, in steadying himself, steadied his colleagues also.
Mr. Moffat, who saw everything, smiled slightly as he spoke encouragingly to his witness, and propounded his next question:
"Miss Cumberland, was your sister with you when you went to the club-house?"
"No; we went separately"
"How? Will you explain?"
"I drove there. I don't know how Adelaide went."
"You drove there?"
"Yes. I had Arthur harness up his horse for me and I drove there."
A moment of silence; then a slow awakening—on the part of judge, jury, and prosecution—to the fact that the case was taking a turn for which they were ill-prepared. To Mr. Moffat, it was a moment of intense self-congratulation, and something of the gratification he felt crept into his voice as he said:
"Miss Cumberland, will you describe this horse?"
"It was a grey horse. It has a large black spot on its left shoulder."
"To what vehicle was it attached?"
"To a cutter—my brother's cutter."
"Was that brother with you? Did he accompany you in your ride to The
Whispering Pines?"
"No, I went quite alone."
Entrancement had now seized upon every mind. Even if her testimony were not true, but merely the wanderings of a mind not fully restored, the interest of it was intense. Mr. Fox, glancing at the jury, saw there would be small use in questioning at this time the mental capacity of the witness. This was a story which all wished to hear. Perhaps he wished to hear it, too.
Mr. Moffat rose to more than his accustomed height. The light which sometimes visited his face when feeling, or a sense of power, was strongest in him, shone from his eye and irradiated his whole aspect as he inquired tellingly:
"And how did you return? With whom, and by what means, did you regain your own house?"
The answer came, with simple directness:
"In the same way I went. I drove back in my brother's cutter and being all alone just as before, I put the horse away myself, and went into my empty home and up to Adelaide's room, where I lost consciousness."
The excitement, which had been seething, broke out as she ceased; but the judge did not need to use his gavel, or the officers of the court exert their authority. At Mr. Moffat's lifted hand, the turmoil ceased as if by magic.
"Miss Cumberland, do you often ride out alone on nights like that?"
"I never did before. I would not have dared to do it then, if I had not taken a certain precaution."
"And what was this precaution?"
"I wore an old coat of my brother's over my dress, and one of his hats on my head."
It was out—the fact for the suppression of which I had suffered arrest without a word; because of which Arthur had gone even further, and submitted to trial with the same constancy. Instinctively, his eyes and mine met, and, at that moment, there was established between us an understanding that was in strong contrast to the surrounding turmoil, which now exceeded all limits, as the highly wrought up spectators realised that these statements, if corroborated, destroyed one of the strongest points which had been made by the prosecution. This caused a stay in the proceedings until order was partially restored, and the judge's voice could be heard in a warning that the court-room would be cleared of all spectators if this break of decorum was repeated.
Meanwhile, my own mind had been busy. I had watched Arthur; I had watched Mr. Moffat. The discouragement of the former, the ill-concealed elation of the latter, proved the folly of any hope, on my part, that Carmel would be spared a full explanation of what I would have given worlds to leave in the darkness and ignorance of the present moment. To save Arthur, unwilling as he was, she was to be allowed to consummate the sacrifice which the real generosity of her heart drove her into making. Before these doors opened again and sent forth the crowd now pulsating under a preamble of whose terrible sequel none as yet dreamed, I should have to hear those sweet lips give utterance to the revelation which would consign her to opprobrium, and break, not only my heart, but her brother's.
Was there no way to stop it? The district attorney gave no evidence of suspecting any issue of this sort, nor did the friendly and humane judge. Only the scheming Moffat knew to what all this was tending, and Moffat could not be trusted. The case was his and he would gain it if he could. Tender and obliging as he was in his treatment of the witness, there was iron under the velvet of his glove. This was his reputation; and this I must now see exemplified before me, without the power to stop it. The consideration with which he approached his subject did not deceive me.
"Miss Cumberland, will you now give the jury the full particulars of that evening's occurrences, as witnessed by yourself. Begin your relation, if you please, with an account of the last meal you had together."