Old Ephraim scuttled off to the door, stumbling and hirpling in his haste and agitation, and it had not closed on him, when his "Bress de Lawd! he done delivered me f'om dem dat would have devoured me!" resounded through the room.
There was a laugh outside—somebody in the corridor opined that the court-martial wanted no such tough old morsel, but not a smile touched the serious faces on each side of the table, and the next witness was summoned.
This was Mrs. Gwynn. She produced an effect of sober elegance in her dress of gray barège, wearing a simple hat of lacelike straw of the same tint, with velvet knots of a darker gray, on her beautiful golden-brown hair. The court-martial, guaranteed to have no heart, had, as far as perceptible impression was concerned, no eyes. They looked stolidly at her as, with a swift and adaptive intelligence, she complied with the formalities, and her testimony was under way.
So youthful, so girlish and fair of face, so sylphlike in form was she, that her appearance was of far more significance in their estimation than their apparent lack of appreciation might betoken. More than one who had begun to incline to the views of the prosecution thought that he beheld here the influence which had fostered treason and brought a fine officer to a forgetfulness of his oath, a disregard of his duty, and the destruction of every value of life and every consolation of death.
Her manner, however, was not that of a siren. All the incongruities of her aspect were specially pronounced as she sat in the clear light of the window and looked steadfastly at each querist in turn, so soberly, so earnestly, with so little consciousness of her beauty, that it seemed in something to lack, as if a more definite aplomb and intention of display could enhance the fact.
Apparently it was a conclusive testimony that she was giving, for it was presently developed that she did not know that Julius Roscoe was in the house; that she herself had suggested to Captain Baynell to go in search of a book up the stairs to his hiding-place, from which there was no other mode of egress; that in less than two minutes she heard Captain Baynell's loud exclamations of surprise, and the words in his voice, very quick and decisive—"You are my prisoner!" twice repeated. She had rushed to the door of the hall to hear a crash as of a fall, and she saw the balustrade of the staircase, which was the same structure throughout the three stories, shaking, as Julius Roscoe, covered with blood, dashed by her and out into the balcony. She knew that Baynell was delirious subsequently, and that he was kept in ignorance as to what had occasioned his fall.
There was a degree of discomfiture on the part of the prosecution. It was not that the judge-advocate was specially bloody-minded or vindictive. He had a part to play, and it behooved him to play it well. It would seem that if the prosecution broke down on so obvious and simple a case, which had been the nucleus of so much disaster, blame might attach to him, by the mere accident of his position. These reflections rendered him ingenious, and with the license of cross-examination he began with personalities.
"You have stated that you are a widow?"
"Yes. I am the widow of Rufus Allerton Gwynn."
"You do not wear widow's weeds?"