"Madam," said the lawyer, in a voice that he intended should reach her heart. "In order to save this man's life you must learn to forget as well as to remember. You saw Leicester kill himself, that is settled. I shall place you on the stand to prove the fact—a fact which saves your husband from the gallows. His wife would not be permitted to give this evidence; the laws forbid it—therefore you are not his wife. They cannot prove that you are; probably you could not easily prove it yourself. I assert, and will maintain it, no marriage ever existed between you and the prisoner."
"But we have lived together forty years; more than forty years!" cried the old woman, and a blush crept slowly over her wrinkled features till it was lost in the soft grey of her hair. "What am I then?"
"What matters a name at your time of life. Besides, the moment he is clear you may prove your marriage before all the courts in America for aught I care; they can't put him on trial a second time."
"And you wish me to deny that we are married—to say that I am not his wife."
The old woman, so weak, so frail, grew absolutely stern as she spoke; the blush fled from her face, leaving it almost sublime. The lawyer even, felt the moral force of that look, and said, half in apology—
"It is the only way to save his life!"
"Then let him die; I could bear it better than to say he is not my husband—I not his wife." She sunk to the floor as she spoke, and bowing her forehead to the old man's knee, sobbed out, "Oh, husband—husband, say that I am right now—did you hear—did you hear?"
The old man sat upright. A holy glow came over his face, and his lips parted with a smile that was heavenly in its sweetness. He raised the feeble woman from his feet, and putting the grey hair gently back from her forehead, kissed it with tender reverence. Then, holding her head to his bosom, he turned to the lawyer. "You may be satisfied, she does not think her husband's poor life worth that price," he said. "Now leave us together."
The lawyer went out rebuked and crest-fallen, muttering to himself as he passed from one flight of steps to another, "Well, let the stubborn old fellow hang, it will do him good; the prettiest case I ever laid out spoiled for an old woman's fancy. It was badly managed, I should have taken her alone! I verily believe the old wretch is innocent, but they will hang him high as Haman, if the woman persists."