"I don't know what you mean by that—that you would not reject him again? Will you explain?" he read his question with a twinkling eye that nettled and harassed her.
A member of the court-martial objected to the interrogation as "frivolous and unnecessary," and therefore it was not addressed to the witness. A pause ensued.
The brevet brigadier cleared his throat.
"Have you concluded this line of investigation?" he said to the judge-advocate, for the prosecution was obviously breaking down.
"I believe we are about through," said the judge-advocate, vacuously, looking at a list in his hand, "that is"—to the accused—"if you have no questions to put in reëxamination." And as Mrs. Gwynn was permitted to depart from the room, he still busied himself with his list. "Three names, yet. These are the children, sir."
Every member of the household of Judge Roscoe was summoned as a witness for the defence, to seek to establish Baynell's innocence in these difficult circumstances, even the little girls, and indeed otherwise the prosecution would have subpoenaed them on the theory that if there were any treachery, the children had not the artifice to conceal it. So far this testimony was unequivocal. Judge Roscoe had sworn to the simple facts and the measures taken to avoid the notice of the Federal officer. Uncle Ephraim's testimony, save for the withheld episode of the grotto, the exact truth, was corroborative, but suffered somewhat from his reputation for wearing two faces, his sobriquet of "Janus" being adduced by the prosecution. Mrs. Gwynn had affirmed that she herself did not know or suspect the presence of Julius in the house, so completely was he held perdu. The agitated little twins, each examined as to her knowledge of the obligations of an oath and sworn, separately testified in curiously clipped, suppressed voices that they knew nothing, heard nothing, saw nothing of Julius Roscoe in the house.
In the face of this unanimity it seemed impossible to prove aught save that in one of those hazardous visits home, so dear to the rash young Southern soldiers, the father had taken successful precautions to defeat suspicion; and the Confederate officer had shown great adroitness in carrying out the plan of his campaign which his observations inside the lines had suggested.
On the last day of the trial Captain Baynell was beginning to breathe more freely, all the testimony having been taken except the necessarily formal questioning of the dumb child. As she was sworn and interrogated, one of the other children, sworn anew for the purpose, acted as her interpreter, being more accustomed than the elders to the use of the manual alphabet. The court-room was interested in the quaint situation. The aspect of the two little children, in their white summer attire, in this incongruous environment, with their tiny hands lifted in signalling to each other, their eyes shining with excitement, touched the spectators to smiles and a stir of pleasant sympathy. Now and then Geraldine's silvery treble faltered while repeating the question, to demonstrate her comprehension of it, and she desisted from her task to gaze in blue-eyed wonder over her shoulder at the crowd. The deaf-mute was passed over cursorily by the defence, only summoned in fact that no one of the household might be omitted or seem feared. Suddenly one of the members of the court asked a question in cross-examination. In civil life this officer, a colonel of volunteers, had been an aurist of some note and the physician in attendance in a deaf-and-dumb asylum. He was a portly, robust man, whose prematurely gray hair and mustache were at variance with his florid complexion and his bright, still youthful, dark eyes. He had a manner peculiarly composed, bland, yet commanding. He leaned forward abruptly on the table; with an intent, questioning gaze he caught the child's eyes as she stood lounging against the tall witness-chair. Then as he lifted his hands it was obvious that he was far more expert in the manual alphabet than Geraldine. In three minutes it was evident to the assembled members of the court-martial on each side of the long table, the president at its head, the judge-advocate at its foot, that the line of communication was as perfect as if both spoke. Delighted to meet a stranger who could converse fluently with her, the child's blue eyes glittered, her cheek flushed; she was continually laughing and tossing back the curls of her rich chestnut hair, as if she wished to be free of its weight while she gave every capacity to this matter. And yet in her youth, her innocence, her inexperience, she knew naught of the ultimate significance of the detail.
It was an evidence of the degree to which she was isolated by her infirmity, how slight was her participation in the subtler interests of the life about her, that she had no remote conception of the intents and results of the investigation. Even her curiosity was manacled—it stretched no grasp for the fact. She did not question. She did not dream that it concerned Captain Baynell. She had no idea that trouble had fallen upon him. Tears to her expressed woe, or a visage of sadness, or the environment of poverty or physical hurt—but this bright room, with its crowd of intent spectators; this splendid array of uniformed men of an august aspect; her own friend, Captain Baynell, present, himself in full regimentals, calm, composed, quiet, as was his wont, looking over a paper in his hand—how was the restricted creature to imagine that this was the arena of a life-and-death conflict.
"Yes!" the little waxen-white fingers flashed forth. "Yes, indeed, she had known that Soldier-Boy was in the house. That was Julius!"