“That poor peasant, then,” said Roland to himself, “he, at least, deems me guiltless. I did not think that there lived one who cared as much for me!”
With the apparent intention of showing to the Court and jury that Keane was not biassed towards his former master, Mr. Jones addressed several questions to him; but instead of eliciting the fact, they called forth from the witness a burst of gratitude and love for him that actually shook the building by the applause it excited, and called for the interference of the Bench to repress.
“You may go down, sir,” said Jones, with the fretful impatience of a man worsted in a controversy; and the witness descended from the table amid the scarcely suppressed plaudits of the crowd. As he passed the dock, Cashel leaned forward and extended his hand towards him. The fellow drew back, and they who were next him perceived that a sallow sickly color spread itself over his face, and that his lips became bloodless.
“Give me your hand, man!” said Cashel.
“Oh, Mr. Cashel! oh, sir!” said he, with that whining affectation of modesty the peasant can so easily assume.
“Give me your hand, I say,” said Cashel, firmly. “Its honest grasp will make me think better of the world than I have done for many a day.”
The fellow made the effort, but with such signs of inward terror and trepidation that he seemed like one ready to faint; and when his cold, nerveless hand quitted Cashel's, it fell powerless to his side. He moved now quickly forward, and was soon lost to sight in the dense throng.
The next witnesses examined were the group who, headed by the Chief Justice, had entered Cashel's room. If they all spoke guardedly, and with great reserve, as to the manner of the prisoner, and the construction they would feel disposed to put upon the mode in which he received them, they agreed as to every detail and every word spoken with an accuracy that profoundly impressed the jury.