“I was eight on the last of June.”
“She knows the nature of an oath?” asked Mr. Grey of the Colonel.
“Certainly, you can soon satisfy yourself of that.”
“My dear,” then said Mr. Grey, taking her by the hand again, and looking into the brown intelligent eyes, “I am sure you have been well taught. Can you tell me what is meant by taking an oath before a magistrate?”
“Yes,” said Rose, colour flushing into her face, “it is calling upon Almighty God to hear one speak the truth.” She spoke so low that she could hardly be heard, and she looked full of startled fear and distress, turning her face up to Colonel Keith with a terrified exclamation,
“Oh please, why am I here, what am I to say?”
He was sorry for her; but her manifest want of preparation was all in favour of the cause, and he soothed her by saying, “Only answer just what you are asked as clearly as you can, and Mr. Grey will soon let you go. He knows you would try any way to speak the truth, but as he is going to examine you as a magistrate, he must ask you to take the oath first.”
Rose repeated the oath in her innocent tones, and perhaps their solemnity or the fatherly gentleness of Mr. Grey reassured her, for her voice trembled much less when she answered his next inquiry, who her parents were.
“My mother is dead,” she said; “my father is Mr Williams, he is away at Ekaterinburg.”
“Do you remember any time before he was at Ekaterinburg?”