Prisoner. Will you swear these were not the shoes he had on?
Ryder. How can I swear that? I know nothing about the man's shoes. If you please, my lord, am I to be kept here all day with her foolish trifling questions?
The Judge. All day, and all night too, if Justice requires it. The law is not swift to shed blood.
Prisoner. My lord and the gentlemen of the jury were here before you, and will be kept here after you. Prithee attend. Look at that drawing of Hernshaw Castle and Hernshaw Mere. Now take this pencil, and mark your bedroom on the drawing.
The pencil was taken from the prisoner, and handed to Ryder. She waited like a cat till it came close to her; then recoiled with an admirable scream. "Me handle a thing hot from the hand of a murderess! It makes me tremble all over."
This cruel stab affected the prisoner visibly. She put her hand to her bosom, and with tears in her eyes faltered out a request to the judge that she might sit down a minute.
The Judge. To be sure you may. And you, my good woman, must not run before the court, how do you know what evidence she may have in store? At present we have only heard one side. Be more moderate.
The prisoner rose promptly to her feet. "My lord, I welcome the insult that has disgusted your lordship and the gentlemen of the jury, and won me those good words of comfort." To Ryder—"What sort of a night was it?"
Ryder. Very little moon, but a clear, starry night.
Prisoner. Could you see the Mere, and the banks?