Miss Lloyd had not risen as it was not required of her, and she sat expectant, but with no sign of nervousness. Mrs. Pierce, her companion, was simply quivering with agitation. Now and again she would touch Miss Lloyd's shoulder or hand, or whisper a word of encouragement, or perhaps wring her own hands in futile despair.
Of course these demonstrations were of little avail, nor did it seem as if Florence Lloyd needed assistance or support.
She gave the impression not only of general capability in managing her own affairs, but of a special strength in an emergency.
And an emergency it was; for though the two before-mentioned jurors, who had been intimate friends of her uncle, were doubtless in sympathy with Miss Lloyd, and though the coroner was kindly disposed toward her, yet the other jurors took little pains to conceal their suspicious attitude, and as for Mr. Parmalee, he was fairly eager with anticipation of the revelations about to come.
“Your name?” said the corner briefly, as if conquering his own sympathy by an unnecessarily formal tone.
“Florence Lloyd,” was the answer.
“Your position in this house?”
“I am the niece of Mrs. Joseph Crawford, who died many years ago. Since her death I have lived with Mr. Crawford, occupying in every respect the position of his daughter, though not legally adopted as such.”
“Mr. Crawford was always kind to you?”
“More than kind. He was generous and indulgent, and, though not of an affectionate nature, he was always courteous and gentle.”