Unless one knew the unbending spirit of the man in matters of right and wrong, he must fail to understand the keenness of feeling covered by the apparently cold, formal statement of fact to which Judge Parlin had confined his written words. To the witness on the witness rack, however, those words were as if the living man spoke again and laid bare a heart torn with the humiliation of self-condemnation, more terrible to him than the judgment of any human tribunal. Realising the bitterness of spirit in which he had spoken, she was stirred anew by that long-dead instinct of protection, which had made her weakness a shield in the past to his strength, and held high her head, too proud of her dead to allow any one to find in her the faintest blame for this strong spirit whose words she, and she alone, read to their last meaning.
The hush that followed the reading was that strong suspension of every function which betokens deep emotion. Before the mass had recovered, the coroner’s voice broke harshly upon them:
“When did you first know of the existence of this paper?”
“The paper itself on the eleventh. I saw the envelope and its address by accident a week or ten days before.”
“Can you fix the exact date?”
“I cannot. I saw it by accident, as I have said, and I assumed it related to something Judge Parlin had desired done in the event named on the envelope. I asked no questions regarding it.”
“Will you state on oath that you knew nothing of the contents of this paper until after the death of Mr. Theodore Wing?”
The white head went up, and there was a sting of rebuke in the tone in which the answer came:
“I was under oath when I gave my testimony. I stated then that I first learned of this paper and its contents on May eleventh. I can add nothing to that.”
“Did you ever suspect the relationship of your husband to Mr. Wing prior to the eleventh of this month, when you saw this paper?”