‘I must go instead,’ said Phœbe, after considering for a moment.
‘My dear,’ exclaimed Honor, ‘you do not know how unpleasant it will be!’
‘Mervyn must sleep,’ said Phœbe; ‘and if this be an innocent man, he ought to be cleared at once. If it be not improper, I think I ought to go. May I?’ looking at the governess, who suggested her speaking to the superintendent, and learning whether her brother had been absolutely summoned.
It proved to be only a verbal message, and the superintendent urged her going, telling her that her evidence would suffice for the present, and that she would be the most important witness at the assizes—which he evidently considered as a great compliment.
Miss Charlecote undertook to go and take care of her young
friend, and they set off in silence, Phœbe leaning back with her veil down, and Honor, perceiving that she needed this interval of quiet repose, watching her with wonder. Had it been Honor’s own case, she would have hung back out of dislike to pursuing an enemy, and from dread of publicity, but these objections had apparently not occurred to the more simple mind, only devising how to spare her brother; and while Honor would have been wretched from distrust of her own accuracy, and her habits of imperfect observation would have made her doubt her own senses and memory, she honoured Phœbe’s careful training in seeing what she saw, and hearing what she heard, without cross lights or counter sounds from imagination. Once Phœbe inquired in a low, awe-struck voice, ‘Shall I be put on oath?’
‘Most likely, my dear.’
Phœbe’s hands were pressed together as though in preparation for a religious rite. She was not dismayed, but from her strict truth at all times, she was the more sensible of the sacredness and solemnity of the great appeal.
An offence on so large a scale had brought a throng of loiterers to the door of the town-hall, and Honor felt nervous and out of place as way was made for the two ladies to mount the stairs to the justice-room; but there she was welcomed by several of the magistrates, and could watch Phœbe’s demeanour, and the impression it made on persons accustomed to connect many strange stories with the name of Miss Fulmort. That air of maidenly innocence, the girlish form in deep mourning, the gentle seriousness and grave composure of the young face, the simple, self-possessed manner, and the steady, distinct tones of the clear, soft voice were, as Honor felt, producing an effect that was shown in the mood of addressing her, always considerate and courteous, but increasing in respect and confidence.
And as Phœbe raised her eyes, the chairman’s face—the first to meet her glance—was the kind ruddy one, set in iron gray hair, that she remembered as belonging to the hunter who had sacrificed the run to see Mervyn safely home. The mutual recognition, and the tone of concern for his illness, made her feel in the presence of a friend, and she was the more at ease in performing her part.