The old man looked up gravely, but made no answer.
"I tell you," said the lawyer sharply, for he was nettled by the old man's look, "yours is a desperate case!"
"I believe it is," was the gentle reply.
"A desperate case, to be cured only with desperate measures. Some person must be found who saw this man strike the blow himself."
"But who did see it, save God and myself?"
"Your wife there, she must have seen it. The door was not quite closed; she was curious—women always are; she looked through, saw the man seize the knife; you tried to arrest his hand; he was a strong man; you old and feeble. You saw all this, madam!"
The old woman was stooping forward, her thin fingers had locked themselves together while the lawyer was speaking, and her eyes were fixed on him, dilating like those of a bird when the serpent begins its charm. At first she waved her head very faintly, thus denying that she had witnessed what he described; then she began to stoop forward, assenting, as it were, to the force and energy of his words, almost believing that she had actually looked through the door and saw all that the lawyer asserted.
"No, she did not see all this," answered the prisoner, quietly; "and if she had, how would it be of use?"
"You did see it, madam!" persisted the lawyer, without removing his eyes from the old woman's face, but fascinating her, as it were, with his gaze—"you did see it!"
"I don't know. I—I, perhaps—yes, I think."