He was a kind-hearted man and he pitied the young girl who had borne so much, but he must do his duty, and their only hope of success lay in weakening her testimony and show cause why she might think she saw what she did not see. He was one of the most adroit men for cross-questioning in the profession, approaching the citadel to be attacked cautiously, boring here, undermining there, confusing and bewildering until the witness so unfortunate as to fall into his hands contradicted himself and did not really know what he saw or heard. Paul knew his reputation and wondered how Elithe would come through the ordeal. She felt intuitively what was before her and braced herself for it.
“Will some one bring me some more water?” she said, and there was a different ring in her voice.
Three or four started to get the water, but Tom was ahead of them. He didn’t spill it this time, but whispered to her: “You’ve the very Old Harry to deal with. If you want to forget, it will be pardonable now.”
Did he mean that he hoped she would waver in her testimony and take back some things she had said? Elithe wondered. If so, he would be mistaken. She knew what she saw and heard, and nothing could make her gainsay it. She did not look at Paul now, but square at the man asking innumerable questions which seemed to have no bearing on the case and then suddenly pouncing upon the real point in a fashion confusing at least. Where was her home? Where did she first see Paul Ralston? Did she know him so intimately that she could not mistake another for him? What facilities had she for knowing him so well? Did he visit her often? or, did she visit at the Ralston House? What was she doing in her room when she saw Paul from her window? and could she repeat the conversation she held with him, and so on.
These and many more questions were asked her, and she answered them all without hesitation. Her home was in Samona. She first met Paul on the boat. She had seen him many times since. She knew him well,—better than any man in Oak City. She could not be mistaken in him, and she was reading the Bible in her room when she heard his voice and spoke to him from the window. She could repeat the conversation she held with him, if necessary. Then she told again what she saw and heard, never varying her story an iota.
It was seldom the questioner had such a witness to deal with. She looked so young that he had thought it an easy matter to worry her into contradictions. But she was firm as a rock, saying always the same, no matter how he approached her, and keeping her truthful eyes upon him with a gaze so steady that he was losing his nerve and wondering how he should next attack her. He struck it at last and hated himself for the satisfaction he felt when he saw the color come into her face and the startled look in her eyes when he asked: “You knew Mr. Percy under another name, I believe? What was that name?”
“Mr. Pennington, John Pennington,” she answered, her voice not quite steady, but her eyes still fixed upon him with an expression so beseeching that it made him look away from her up at the ceiling, where a big spider was watching to capture a fly creeping slowly his way.
He likened himself to the spider and Elithe to the fly, but continued: “Do you know why he took that name?”
“I never heard. We do not ask such questions in Samona,” Elithe answered, with a manner worthy of her aunt, who was sitting with a hand holding each side of her chair, her lips apart and her head thrown forward so as not to lose a word.
“You don’t ask such questions in Samona?” the lawyer repeated, still regarding the fly coming nearer to the web. “Will you please tell where you first met him and under what circumstances?”