The sisters of Burton were next examined. They proved all the admitted facts; testified as to the stocking and its contents; and two of them recognised the piece of gold which was said to have been found in Mary Monson’s purse, as that which had once been the property of Dorothy Goodwin. On this head, the testimony of each was full, direct, and explicit. Each had often seen the piece of gold, and they had noted a very small notch or scratch near the edge, which notch or scratch was visible on the piece now presented in court. The cross-examination failed to shake this testimony, and well it might, for every word these young women stated was strictly true. The experiment of placing the piece of coin among other similar coin, failed with them. They easily recognized the true piece by the notch. Timms was confounded; Dunscomb looked very grave; Williams raised his nose higher than ever; and Mary Monson was perfectly surprised. When the notch was first mentioned, she arose, advanced far enough to examine the coin, and laid her hand on her forehead, as if she pondered painfully on the circumstance. The testimony that this was the identical piece found in her purse was very ample, the coin having been sealed up and kept by the coroner, who had brought it into court; while it must now be admitted that a very strong case was made out to show that this foreign coin had once been among the hoards of Dorothy Goodwin. A very deep impression was made by this testimony on all who heard it, including the court, the bar, the jury and the audience. Every person present, but those who were in the immediate confidence of the accused, was firmly convinced of Mary Monson’s guilt. Perhaps the only other exceptions to this mode of thinking were a few experienced practitioners, who, from long habit, knew the vast importance of hearing both sides, before they made up their minds in a matter of so much moment.
We shall not follow Dunscomb through his long and arduous cross-examination of the sisters of Burton; but confine ourselves to a few of the more pertinent of the interrogatories that he put to the eldest, and which were duly repeated when the other two were placed on the stand.
“Will you name the persons dwelling in the house of the Goodwins at the time of the fire?” asked Dunscomb.
“There were the two old folks, this Mary Monson, and a German woman named Yetty (Jette), that aunt Dorothy took in to wait on her boarders.”
“Was Mrs. Goodwin your aunt, then?”
“No; we wasn’t related no how; but, being such near neighbours, and she so old, we just called her aunt by way of a compliment.”
“I understand that,” said Dunscomb, arching his brows—“I am called uncle, and by very charming young persons, on the same principle. Did you know much of this German?”
“I saw her almost every day for the time she was there, and talked with her as well as I could; but she spoke very little English. Mary Monson was the only person who could talk with her freely; she spoke her language.”
“Had you much acquaintance with the prisoner at the bar?”
“I was some acquainted; as a body always is, when they live such near neighbours.”