“Yes, sir.”
“Without that compulsion nothing would have induced you to come here, and stand in this box, and speak words which might be used to hurt your friend?”
“Yes, sir.”
The witness had been weeping softly for some time. Her emotion, which in the circumstances was natural, was also felt to be a tribute to the examining counsel. The gentleness of a voice which touched the chord of pathos in every phrase it uttered without betraying a consciousness that it did so, invested a series of tame and unfruitful questions with an æsthetic quality which even the least educated of those present could appreciate.
At this point, however, Mr. Weekes rose brusquely and tartly with an objection. His friend had trespassed beyond the privilege of counsel. The objection was upheld by the judge, who with a kind of courteous acerbity informed Northcote in some very harmonious diction that he would do well to put his question in another form.
“I will do so, my lord,” said the young man, with admirable composure and raising his voice a little.
“You were forced to come here by the police?”
“Yes, sir.”
“In whom you stand in great fear?”
“Yes, sir.”