“Or of worshipping, as I tell Gott,” said the sheriff’s wife, permitting her companion to depart.
Anna found Mary Monson and Sarah walking together in the gallery, conversing earnestly.
“It is singular that nothing reaches us from Michael Millington!” exclaimed the last, as Anna interlocked arms with her, and joined the party. “It is now near eight-and-forty hours since my uncle sent him to town.”
“On my business?” demanded Mary Monson, quickly.
“Certainly; on no other—though what it was that took him away so suddenly, I have not been told. I trust you will be able to overturn all that these Burtons have said, and to repair the mischief they have done?”
“Fear nothing for me, Miss Wilmeter,” answered the prisoner, with singular steadiness of manner—“I tell you, as I have often told your friend, I must be acquitted. Let justice take its course, say I, and the guilty be punished. I have a clue to the whole story, as I believe, and must make provision for to-morrow. Do you two, dear, warm-hearted friends as you are, now leave me; and when you reach the inn, send Mr. Dunscomb hither, as soon as possible. Not that Timms; but noble, honest, upright Mr. Dunscomb. Kiss me, each of you, and so good night. Think of me in your prayers. I am a great sinner, and have need of your prayers.”
The wishes of Mary Monson were obeyed, and the young ladies left the gaol for the night. Ten minutes later Dunscomb reached the place, and was admitted. His conference with his client was long, intensely interesting, and it quite unsettled the notions he had now, for some time, entertained of her guilt. She did not communicate any thing concerning her past life, nor did she make any promises on that subject; but she did communicate facts of great importance, as connected with the result of her trial. Dunscomb left her, at a late hour, with views entirely changed, hopes revived, and his resolution stimulated. He made ample entries in his brief; nor did he lay his head on his pillow until it was very late.
The little court-house bell rang as usual, next morning, and judge, jurors, witnesses, lawyers, and the curious in general, collected as before, without any ceremony, though in decent quiet. The case was now getting to be so serious, that all approached it as truly a matter of life and death; even the reporters submitting to an impulse of humanity, and viewing the whole affair less in a business point of view, than as one which might carry a singularly gifted woman into the other world. The first act of the day opened by putting Mrs. Burton on the stand, for her cross-examination. As every intelligent person present understood that on her testimony depended the main result, the fall of a pin might almost have been heard, so profound was the general wish to catch what was going on. The witness, however, appeared to be calm, while the advocate was pale and anxious. He had the air of one who had slept little the past night. He arranged his papers with studied care, made each movement deliberately, compressed his lips, and seemed to be bringing his thoughts into such a state of order and distinctness that each might be resorted to as it was needful. In point of fact, Dunscomb foresaw that a human life depended very much on the result of this cross-examination, and like a conscientious man, he was disposed to do his whole duty. No wonder, then, that he paused to reflect, was deliberate in his acts, and concentrated in feeling.
“We will first give our attention to this piece of gold, Mrs. Burton,” the counsel for the prisoner mildly commenced, motioning to the coroner, who was in court, to show the witness the piece of money so often examined. “Are you quite certain that it is the very coin that you saw in the possession of Mrs. Goodwin?”
“Absolutely certain, sir. As certain as I am of anything in the world.”