He was Paul Ralston still, but a prisoner charged with killing Jack Percy,—the man they had sworn against the day before, and against whom Elithe was to swear to-day. His breakfast went away untouched, and his stoop was more perceptible, his eyes more hollow, and his face whiter when he was driven again through the crowded streets and saw the people hurrying to the Court House, some with lunch-boxes and baskets, showing that they meant to sit through the recess and not run the risk of losing their seats if they were so fortunate as to get one.
Again the house was packed. Again the twelve jurors were in their places, with the judge and attorneys, those for the defense and those for the prosecution, with the prosecuting attorney bustling about, nervous and excited, and speaking once to Miss Hansford, who scowled at him with a look through her “near-see-ers,” worn on the end of her nose, not very re-assuring. She had never had a great deal of respect for him, and had less now, when he was arrayed against Paul Ralston, with a right to ask her whatever he chose. He knew this and had confessed himself a little afraid to tackle the old lady, and so had thought to conciliate her by asking her advice on some minor point. He might as well have tried to conciliate a mad dog, and he gave her up hopelessly.
Everything was now ready. Judge Ralston was there, leaning heavily on his gold-headed cane, with his wife leaning on him. Elithe was in her place, with the blue veil over her face and shaking in every limb, for now the worst was coming and there were so many looking on,—not at her then, but at Paul, who was taking his seat, followed by Sherry, who stretched himself upon the floor as he had done the previous day. With his appearance and Paul’s, the hum of voices ceased and a great hush pervaded the room until Miss Phebe Hansford was called.
“Oh, my Lord!” she was heard to ejaculate as she rose in response to the call; then, in a loud whisper, “Let go my dress,” to Elithe, who had unconsciously been holding to her skirt as a kind of safeguard and defense.
Elithe dropped the dress, while Miss Hansford went forward, bristling with defiance, her “near-see’ers” on her forehead now instead of the end of her nose. Never before had a witness like her been seen upon the stand. She cared neither for law, nor order, nor judge, nor jury, and much less for the prosecuting attorney.
“’Tain’t likely I shall tell anything but the truth. I ain’t in the habit of lying, like some folks I know,” she said, as she took the oath.
All her words were jerked out with a vim which made the spectators smile in spite of themselves. When asked if she knew the prisoner, she answered, “I’d laugh if I didn’t. Seems to me I’d ask something more sensible than that and more to the point. You know I know him, and you, too!”
Whether it was her derisive manner, or his nervousness in tackling her, or both, the next question was certainly not necessary under the circumstances, nor one he had intended asking her until it came into his mind suddenly.
“How old are you, Miss Hansford?”
If scorn could have annihilated him, the attorney would have been wiped out of existence, as Miss Hansford told him it was none of his business. “Not that I’m ashamed of my age,” she said. “Anybody can know it who cares to look in my family Bible, but it has nothing to do with this case. I’m old enough to be a legal witness. I knew you when you was a boy. If you are old enough to stand there asking me questions, I am old enough to answer correctly, and I hain’t softening of the brain, neither.”