"Little hypocrite—little spy!" she hissed. "Don't forget that you have committed perjury. Your sentence will be a severe one."
"Hush," said Rumsey, "is this a moment—?" A look in his eyes silenced the widow—she shrank away near one of the windows to relieve her overcharged feelings in a burst of tears.
"Sit here and tell me exactly what you saw," said Rumsey to Hetty. "Mr. Cuthbert, you are doubtless a magistrate?"
"Bless my stars, I don't know what I am at the present moment," said the worthy Squire, mopping his crimson brow.
"Try to retain your self-control—remember how much hangs on it. This young woman is very ill—it will be all important that we get her deposition before——" Rumsey paused; Hetty's eyes were fixed on his face, her lips moved faintly.
"You may save the Squire after all if you tell the simple truth," said Rumsey kindly, bending toward her and speaking in a low voice. "Try and tell the simple truth. I know you are feeling ill, but you will be better afterward. Will you tell me exactly what happened? I shall put it down in writing. You will then sign your own deposition."
"I'll tell the truth," said Hetty—"is it the case that if I tell just the truth I may save Squire?"
"It is his only chance. Now begin."
The others crowded round when Hetty began to speak; all but Mrs. Everett, who still sat in the window, her face buried in her handkerchief.
Hetty began her tale falteringly, often trembling and often pausing, but Rumsey managed to keep her to the point. By and by the whole queer story was taken down and was then formally signed and sworn to. Rumsey finally folded up the paper and gave it to Squire Cuthbert to keep.