"I have not."
"Are you sure he is dead?"
"I have no doubt of it."
"Can you recognize this boy," pointing to Ralph, "as the one whom you saw with the nurse and afterward with the old man on the night of the accident?"
"Oh, no! he was a mere baby at that time."
"Are you positive that the boy in court is not your grandson?"
"Perfectly positive, there is not the slightest resemblance."
"That will do."
The cross-examination had done little more than to strengthen the direct testimony. Mrs. Burnham had thrown aside her veil and gazed intently at the witness from the moment he went on the stand. She recognized him as the man who sat across the aisle from her, with his grandchild, on the night of the disaster, and she knew that he was telling the truth. There seemed to be no escape from the conclusion that it was her child who went down to the city that night with Simon Craft. Was it her child who escaped from him, and wandered, sick and destitute, almost to her own door? Her thought was interrupted by the voice of Sharpman, who had faced the crowded court-room and was calling the name of another witness: "Richard Lyon!"
A young man in short jacket and plaid trousers took the witness-stand.