“Quite small. It looked like a child’s.”
“My lord,” said Sedley, “I have a witness here, a surgeon, whom I request may be called to certify the proportion of a skeleton to the size of a living man.”
Though this was done, the whole matter of size was so vague that there was nothing proved, either as to the inches of Peregrine or those of the skeleton, but still Sedley made his point that the identity of the body was unproved at least in some minds. Still, there remained the other articles, about which there was no doubt.
Mr. Cowper proceeded with his examination as to the disputes at Portsmouth, but again the prisoner scored a point by proving that Peregrine had staked the ring against him at a cock-fight at Southampton, and had lost it.
Dr. Woodford was called, and his evidence could not choose but to be most damaging as to the conflict on the road at Portsmouth; but as he had not seen the beginning, ‘Mistress Anne Jacobina Woodford’ was called for.
There she stood, tall and stately, almost majestic in the stiffness of intense self-restraint, in her simple gray dress, her black silk hood somewhat back, her brown curls round her face, a red spot in each cheek, her earnest brown eyes fixed on the clerk as he gabbled out the words so awful to her, “The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth;” and her soul re-echoed the words, “So help you God.”
Mr. Cowper was courteous; he was a gentleman, and he saw she was no light-minded girl. He asked her the few questions needful as to the attack made on her, and the defence; but something moved him to go on and ask whether she had been on Portsdown Hill, and to obtain from her the account of the high words between the young men. She answered each question in a clear low voice, which still was audible to all. Was it over, or would Sedley begin to torture her, when so much was in his favour? No! Mr. Cowper—oh! why would he? was asking in an affirmative tone, as if to clench the former evidence, “And did you ever see the deceased again?”
“Yes.” The answer was at first almost choked, then cleared into sharpness, and every eye turned in surprise on the face that had become as white as her collar.
“Indeed! And when?”
“The next morning,” in a voice as if pronouncing her own doom, and with hands clinging tight to the front of the witness-box as though in anguish.