AN IMPORTANT WITNESS.
The fair girl looked wan, thin, and sad, her recent bereavement having worn heavily upon her. But there was a spot of scarlet upon each cheek, called there by the excitement of the moment, while there was also a gleam of mingled indignation and determination in her beautiful blue eyes, which bespoke some high purpose in view.
Gerald half-started from his seat as he saw her enter the court-room, then a swift, hot flush mounted to his forehead, and he sank back with averted face and painfully compressed lips. As Allison went swiftly across the room her eyes met those of John Hubbard, who sprang to his feet, repressing an oath, and hurried forward to meet her, while the judge paused in surprise at the strange interruption.
“Are you Gerald’s counsel?” Allison questioned excitedly, as her guardian came to her side.
“No,” he said briefly, then added, in a tone of displeasure, “but why are you here? This is no place for you.”
“Who is his lawyer, then?” she demanded, without heeding his objection to her presence.
“No one whom you know; but the case is almost concluded—the judge is about to address the jury. Come, let me take you out.”
“Will Gerald be acquitted?” queried Allison, anxiously.
“I—I cannot say,” the man faltered, his glance wavering before her. “But, come now.”
“No, not until I know how this case is going,” said Allison sharply. “Oh, why did you not tell me about it? I never knew a word of it until an hour ago, when I went to the bank to get something that belonged to papa, which I wanted very much, and Mr. Whipple told me what was going on here.”
The truth was that Allison so yearned to see Gerald that she had made an errand to the bank for that very purpose, when, upon inquiring for him, she had learned the truth, and then, nearly wild with grief, hastened to the courthouse with the hope of being able to help him in some way.
“Order!” some one now called out, for the judge was still waiting for the prosecuting-attorney to return to his seat.
“Who brought this charge against Gerald?” Allison questioned eagerly, but lowering her voice.
“I did,” returned her companion, now white with anger, as he realized that she would not yield to him, and had some definite purpose in view.
“You? Why did you do it?” Allison demanded, with blazing eyes.
“Because I caught him in the act of stealing from the vault of the bank.”
“Never! Gerald could not be guilty of theft,” whispered the girl hoarsely.
“Unfortunately, his guilt has been proven. Now will you come?” And the man laid an authoritative hand upon her arm.
She drew herself haughtily away from him, and, turning, bent her gaze upon Gerald, who was responding to some question just put to him by his counsel.
“Order!” again called the voice; but Allison, all unmindful of the fact that she was becoming conspicuous, glided straight to the side of Albert Arnold.
“Are you Mr. Winchester’s lawyer?” she inquired, at the same time bestowing a tremulous smile upon Gerald.
“Yes,” he replied, smiling encouragement upon her, for he began to see a gleam of hope for his client, as Gerald had just told him who she was.
“Then I have something to tell you,” she said, eagerly; “I would have come before, but I did not know anything about this—this trouble until within an hour. Am I too late to help Gerald?”
“I hope not, my dear young lady, although, to use a slang expression, it is a pretty close shave. Your honor,” turning to the judge, with fresh energy, “this young lady is Miss Brewster, and she informs me that she has some evidence to give in favor of my client.”
“Do you know the nature of it?” inquired his honor.
“I do not; had I known that she was qualified to testify, I should have called her as a witness long before this.”
“She may take the stand,” said the judge, resuming his seat with a feeling of secret satisfaction.
“I object, your honor,” John Hubbard here interposed. “Miss Brewster is my ward—she can know nothing of the affair, and this is no place for her. The case is almost concluded—the evidence has been submitted, and——”
“Mr. Hubbard, the young lady has voluntarily come here to give evidence for the prisoner, and her testimony will be received,” interposed the judge, with considerable sternness, adding, peremptorily: “Officer, swear the witness.”
After Allison was sworn, he courteously remarked:
“Now, Miss Brewster, you may proceed.”
“I am told,” the fair witness began, but now very pale, “that Mr. Winchester is being tried for the crime of robbery. I know that he is guiltless, for I have heard my father say, many times, that he was the most trustworthy young man he ever met. I have heard him say that he was ‘almost morbidly honest.’ I have learned today that this supposed robbery was committed on Sunday, the—the morning after my father died.” Allison’s voice wavered slightly here. “But I am sure there was no theft—no intent to steal; I believe that he was sent to the bank to get the articles found in his possession. I know he came to see papa on Saturday—the day before—for I went into the room while he was there. I am sure, too, that he must have come by appointment, for my father denied himself to all visitors, and seldom saw any one outside the family except on necessary business. If Mr. Winchester says that he gave him the keys to the bank to enable him to perform this errand, I know he must have done so, for he is incapable of falsehood.”
The court-room might have been empty, it was so still. There was not a sound save that sweet, young voice, which was like music to at least one pair of eager ears, as it bravely rehearsed the sterling qualities of her persecuted lover.
The audience listened spellbound—even the judge betrayed, by his eager attitude, how intensely interested he was, while John Hubbard was as white as the handkerchief with which, from time to time, he wiped the moisture from his forehead.
“Neither my father nor Mr. Winchester was aware of my presence in the room until a minute or two after I entered,” Allison resumed, after a momentary pause, “and as I stepped inside the portiéres I heard Gerald say, ‘I have never made a false entry in one of your books.’ ‘I am sure you have not, Gerald,’ papa replied. ‘I would stake my fortune upon your integrity, and your faithfulness to my interests. I will look into this matter as soon as I am able.’ Then I made it known that I was in the room, and, a few minutes later, Mr. Winchester went away.”
Allison heaved a sigh of relief as she concluded, although she would have been willing to talk on indefinitely if she could have given conclusive proof of Gerald’s innocence. But the little that she had told tallied so exactly with his own account of his conversation with Mr. Brewster that it proved a great deal for him.
“Do you think it would have been possible for Mr. Winchester to get possession of your father’s keys without his knowledge?” Gerald’s counsel inquired, a ring of triumph in his tones.
“Certainly not,” Allison replied confidently; “papa always kept them in a small drawer of a table in his room. He was sitting close beside it when I entered the room, and Mr. Winchester was on the opposite side of the table, and there is no drawer on that side.”
There was a little burst of applause at this latter statement, which plainly betrayed the sympathy of those who had listened to the evidence.
Mr. Arnold said he had no further questions to ask, and John Hubbard refusing, with frigid dignity, to catechise his ward, Allison was allowed to leave the stand.
The judge then remarked that, in view of the evidence just given, the aspect of the whole case was reversed, and it was self-evident that the prisoner was innocent of all wrong. The jury announced a verdict of acquittal without leaving their seats.
The moment the court was adjourned, and before her guardian could intercept her, she darted to Gerald’s side and cordially shook hands with him, after which he formally introduced her to his lawyer, who commended her most heartily for the step she had taken, and the timely aid she had given his client.
“Gerald,” she asked, with a look of reproach, “why didn’t you call upon me as a witness?”
He flushed at the question.
“I could not,” he replied, with evident embarrassment; “I could not endure the thought of your coming to such a place, and, besides, I did not know how much or how little you had heard of my conversation with Mr. Brewster.”
“But, at least, you might have let me know that you were in trouble,” Allison returned, with a flash of resentment, while hot tears of wounded feeling rushed to her eyes.
“I supposed, of course, you knew,” he faltered, flushing sensitively, “the newspapers were full of the affair.”
“But I didn’t see the papers.” Then, with a searching look into his face, she added: “If you believed I was aware of your trouble, you must have thought me very—very unfriendly and indifferent—not to send you some word of sympathy, nor come near you.”
Again Gerald flushed.
“I am afraid I haven’t been quite just to you,” he confessed.
“Well?” questioned the girl, somewhat sharply, as a hand was at that moment laid upon her arm, and she turned to find her guardian at her side.
“I have come to take you home,” he briefly remarked.
“Thank you, Mr. Hubbard,” she coldly returned, “but I am not going home at present, and I will not detain you. The carriage is waiting for me, and I have several errands to attend to before dinner.”
“Very well, then, I will escort you to your carriage before I go,” the man responded, white in his lips with inward rage over his defeat.
She gave her head a little independent toss, but she did not quite dare to defy him further, for his tone had been authoritative, and she knew she must go. But first she turned to Gerald and extended her hand.
“Good-by, Gerald,” she said. “I am so glad that all has ended well for you.” Then she added, in a hurried whisper, “Come and tell me about it—come to-morrow afternoon.”
Gerald thanked her, and telegraphed his assent to her request by a nod and a significant pressure of the hand he held.
Then, after bidding Mr. Arnold good-by, she signified to Mr. Hubbard her readiness to go, and so passed out of the court-room with him, but with a frigid manner and haughty bearing which warned him that it might not be to his advantage to presume too much upon his office as guardian of this spirited young lady; that the employment of tact might be more effectual.
Upon reaching the carriage, Allison sprang in, before he could put forth a hand to assist her, and she did not even offer to take him along, and drop him at the bank on her way up-town.
She was inwardly boiling with rage and resentment toward him, because he had been instrumental in bringing Gerald into such trouble and disgrace, and she told herself that she should hate him for it as long as she lived.
He was secretly chafed by her attitude, and yet there was something of amusement and admiration, as well as of anger, in the look with which he regarded her, as he closed the door of the vehicle.
She was very pretty—“deucedly pretty,” as he mentally expressed it—with that spirited air, that defiant flash in her beautiful eyes, and the angry scarlet in her cheeks.
He had never seen her in such a mood before, but it only added to her charms, and he thought he rather liked it—unless it should become too emphatic—unless she should defy all curbing by “taking the bit in those dainty white teeth of hers.”
He bent forward through the open window and intercepted her glance with a smiling, indulgent look.
“I seem to have incurred your displeasure in some way, Miss Allison,” he remarked, in a friendly tone. “Don’t you think you are a trifle unjust to me? I am certainly ignorant of any wilful offense against you.”
“But you said you caused Gerald’s arrest,” Allison began, excitedly.
“And so I did,” he quietly interposed.
“How could you? how could you?” she burst forth angrily; “it was an outrage, for there isn’t a more honest fellow living than Gerald Winchester, and papa——”
“Softly, Allison, softly!” her companion interrupted, a cruel spark leaping into his eyes. “Don’t allow your personal regard for the young man to run away with your judgment. My fidelity to my employer’s interests demands that if I find a burglar in the act of robbing his bank I must guard them to the extent of the law, even though its clutch falls upon a confidential clerk.”
“But you might have given Gerald the benefit of the doubt, when he had the keys—when you knew he had never been guilty of a mean or dishonorable act since he came into papa’s employ,” the fair girl persisted, adding tremulously. “Oh, it would have been too dreadful if I had not found out about it!”
“Yes, doubtless Winchester would have had a three years’ sentence to serve,” John Hubbard returned, indifferently. “But,” he added, assuming a blandness he was far from feeling, “I will not keep you here discussing the matter further, even though I should be glad to convince you of my fidelity to your father, and to assure you that I shall continue to labor as faithfully for your interests.”
Allison gave a little shrug of impatience at this latter remark, thus plainly indicating that it would have pleased her better if she could have had some one more congenial to guard her interests.
The lawyer’s white teeth gleamed at her for an instant from beneath his mustache; then he remarked, in a matter-of-fact tone:
“By the way, you said you had some errands to attend to. Have you plenty of money for your purpose?”
“I have my check-book, thank you, and do not need any money,” Allison coldly returned, drawing her coat more closely about her as a hint that she did not care to be detained longer.
The man looked a trifle surprised at her reply.
“Very well, good-day,” he said, as he lifted his hat and stepped back, whereupon Allison was driven away.