“You are sure he is dead, then?” is the question put to the prisoner by the prosecuting counsel.
“Quite sure,” responds the accused. “Had you seen him as I did, you would think the interrogatory a very idle one.”
“You saw the body?”
“I must take exception to this course of examination,” interposes the counsel for the accused. “It is quite irregular.”
“Faith! in an Owld Country court it wouldn’t be allowed,” adds the Cis-Atlantic attorney. “The counsel for the prosecution wouldn’t be permitted to spake, till it came to the cross-examination.”
“That’s the law here, too,” says the judge, with a severe gesture towards him who has erred. “Prisoner at the bar! you can continue your story. Your own counsel may ask you what question he pleases; but nobody else, till you have done. Go on! Let us hear all you have to say.”
“I have spoken of a reconciliation,” resumes the accused, “and have told you where it took place. I must explain how it came to be there.
“It has been made known to you how we parted—Miss Poindexter, her brother, and myself.
“On leaving them I swam across the river; partly because I was too excited to care how I went off, and partly that I did not wish him to know how I had got into the garden. I had my reasons for that. I walked on up stream, towards the village. It was a very warm night—as may be remembered by many of you—and my clothes had got nearly dry by the time I reached the hotel.
“The house was still open, and the landlord behind his bar; but as up to that day I had no reason to thank him for any extra hospitality, and as there was nothing to detain me any longer under his roof, I took it into my head to set out at once for the Alamo, and make the journey during the cool hours of the night.