They were going to hurry him away, but Alfred Percy said that, with the permission of the court, he must cross-examine that witness farther, as the whole event of the trial depended upon the degree of credit that might be given to his evidence.
By this time the old man had somewhat recovered himself; he saw that his age and reverend appearance still prepossessed the jury in his favour, and from their looks, and from the whispers near him, he learned that his tremor and hesitation had not created any suspicion of guilt, but had been attributed rather to the sensibility of virtue, and the weakness of age. And, now that the momentary emotion which eloquence had produced on his mind had subsided, he recollected the bribe that had been promised to him. He was aware that he had already sworn what, if he contradicted, might subject him to be prosecuted for perjury. He now stood obstinately resolved to persevere in his iniquity. The first falsehoods pronounced and believed, the next would be easy.
“Your name is William Clerke, and this,” said Alfred (pointing to the witness’s signature), “is your handwriting?”
“Yes, I say it is.”
“You can write then?” (putting a pen into his hand) “be so good as to write a few words in the presence of the court.” He took the pen, but after making some fruitless attempts, replied, “I am too old to write—I have not been able to write my name these many years—Indeed! sir, indeed! you are too hard upon one like me. God knows,” said he, looking up to Heaven, some thought with feeling, some suspected with hypocrisy—“God knows, sir, I speak the truth, and nothing but the truth. Have you any more questions to put to me? I am ready to tell all I know. What interest have I to conceal any thing?” continued he, his voice gaining strength and confidence as he went on repeating the lesson which he had been taught.
“It was long, a long while ago,” he said, “since it had all happened; but thank Heaven, his memory had been spared him, and he remembered all that had passed, the same as if it was but yesterday. He recollected how Sir John looked, where he sat, what he said when he signed this deed; and, moreover, he had often before heard of a dislike Sir John had taken to his younger grandson—ay, to that young gentleman’s father,” looking at Alfred; “and I was very sorry to hear it—very sorry there should be any dispute in the family, for I loved them all,” said he, wiping his eyes—“ay, I loved ‘em all, and all alike, from the time they were in their cradles. I remember too, once, Sir John said to me, ‘William Clerke,’ says he, ‘you are a faithful lad’—for I was a lad once—”
Alfred had judiciously allowed the witness to go on as far as he pleased with his story, in the expectation that some exaggeration and contradiction would appear; but the judge now interrupted the old man, observing that this was nothing to the purpose—that he must not take up the time of the court with idle tales, but that if he had any thing more to give in evidence respecting the deed, he should relate it.
The judge was thought to be severe; and the old man, after glancing his eye on the jury, bowed with an air of resignation, and an appearance of difficulty, which excited their compassion.
“We may let him go now, my lord, may not we?” said Sir Robert Percy’s counsel.
“With the permission of his lordship, I will ask one other question,” said Alfred.