"What is your name?"
And clear and sweet as a silver bell the lady's voice arose in answer, penetrating every strained ear in the densely-packed court-room.
"I have been known as Bonnibel Carlyle, but I am Bonnibel Dane, the wife of the prisoner at the bar!"
As the words left her lips she glanced beneath her long lashes at the face of Leslie Dane. In her swift look there was shame, abnegation, self-sacrifice, curiously blended with uncontrollable pity and almost tenderness. The face that looked back at her was so radiant that it almost dazzled her. Her eyes dropped swiftly, and she never looked at him again while she stood there.
Many eyes turned upon Colonel Carlyle to see how he bore the stroke of fate. He sat perfectly still, white as marble, staring like one frozen into a statue of horror at the beautiful witness in the box, whose blue eyes took no note of his presence.
The examination proceeded. Bonnibel told her story calmly, clearly, bravely. When she concluded and left the witness-stand she was succeeded by the old minister and his wife, whom she had brought from Brandon.
They corroborated her testimony and left no flaw in the evidence. The clouds which had hung over Leslie Dane's fair name so long were dissipated by the sunlight of truth. His alibi was triumphantly established, his innocence perfectly vindicated. And then, to the surprise of all and the utter consternation of Felise Herbert, Wild Madge, the sibyl, hobbled weakly into the witness-box, pale, wrinkled, cadaverous, the image of hideous old age and approaching death. Breathless silence pervaded the multitude while the dying woman told her story, interspersing it with many expressions of remorse and horror. Briefly told, her confession amounted to this: Felise Herbert had sought her humble cabin the night that Mr. Arnold and Leslie Dane had quarreled, and bribed her to murder the millionaire. Tempted by the large reward, she had stolen upon Mr. Arnold as he slept in his arm-chair on the piazza and stabbed him to the heart with a large knife. Then, ere long, remorse had fastened upon her, and she had cast the golden price of her dreadful crime into the engulfing waves of the ocean. Finishing her story with a last labored effort, and throwing up her arms wildly into the air, Wild Madge, the feared and dreaded sibyl of Cape May fell forward on the floor of the court-room—dead!
As soon as her body had been removed from the place the lawyer who had prosecuted Leslie Dane rose hastily in his seat. It might be out of order, he said, but he should be glad to ask a few questions of the minister who had performed the marriage ceremony between Leslie Dane and Miss Bonnibel Vere.
His request was granted, and the aged, white-haired preacher was again placed on the witness-stand, while curiosity was on the qui vive for further developments. The lawyer cross-questioned the old man closely for a few minutes; then he turned to the judge.