"Yes, sir, it is so. You perceive that she is not in the dock with the other prisoner. She is in custody, however, in the sheriff's room. The prosecution cannot afford to arraign her, because they cannot do without her testimony," answered the stranger.
A buzz of conversation passed like a breeze through the impatient crowd.
"Silence in the court!" called out the crier.
And all became as still as death.
Mr. Roy, assistant counsel for the crown, arose and read the indictment, charging the prisoner at the bar with the willful murder of Sir Lemuel Levison, at Castle Lone, on the twenty-first day of June, Anno Domini, so and so. Without making any comment, the prosecutor sat down.
The Clerk of Arraigns then arose, and demanded of the accused—
"Prisoner at the bar, are you guilty or not guilty of the crimes with which you stand indicted?"
Potts, who stood pale and trembling and clutching the rails in front of the dock, replied earnestly though informally:
"Not guilty, upon my soul, my lords and gentlemen, before Heaven, and as I hope for salvation."
And overpowered by fear, he sank down on the narrow bench at the back of the dock.