“I mean to say, my Lord, that were I to hear him utter the same words in an excited tone, I should be able to swear to them.”
“That's a lie!” cried Curtis.
“These were the words, and that the voice, my Lord,” said Vereker; and as he spoke, a deep murmur of agitated feeling rang through the crowded court.
“By Heaven!” cried Curtis, in a tone of passionate excitement, “I hold my life as cheaply as any man; but I cannot see it taken away by the breath of a false witness: let me interrogate this man.” In vain was it that the practised counsel appointed to conduct his case interposed, and entreated of him to be silent. To no purpose did they beg of him to leave in their hands the difficult game of cross-examination. He rejected their advice as haughtily as he had refused their services, and at once addressed himself to the critical task.
“With whom had you dined, sir, on the day in question,—the 7th of June?” asked he of Vereker.
“I dined with Sir Marcus Hutchinson.”
“There was a large party?”
“There was.”
“Tell us, so far as you remember, the names of the guests.”
“Some were strangers to me,—from England, I believe; but of those I knew before, I can call to mind Leonard Fox, Hamilton Gore, John Fortescue, and his brother Edward, Tom Beresford, and poor Rutledge.”