“Certainly not,” Allison replied confidently; “papa always kept them in a small drawer of a table in his room. He was sitting close beside it when I entered the room, and Mr. Winchester was on the opposite side of the table, and there is no drawer on that side.”
There was a little burst of applause at this latter statement, which plainly betrayed the sympathy of those who had listened to the evidence.
Mr. Arnold said he had no further questions to ask, and John Hubbard refusing, with frigid dignity, to catechise his ward, Allison was allowed to leave the stand.
The judge then remarked that, in view of the evidence just given, the aspect of the whole case was reversed, and it was self-evident that the prisoner was innocent of all wrong. The jury announced a verdict of acquittal without leaving their seats.
The moment the court was adjourned, and before her guardian could intercept her, she darted to Gerald’s side and cordially shook hands with him, after which he formally introduced her to his lawyer, who commended her most heartily for the step she had taken, and the timely aid she had given his client.
“Gerald,” she asked, with a look of reproach, “why didn’t you call upon me as a witness?”
He flushed at the question.
“I could not,” he replied, with evident embarrassment; “I could not endure the thought of your coming to such a place, and, besides, I did not know how much or how little you had heard of my conversation with Mr. Brewster.”
“But, at least, you might have let me know that you were in trouble,” Allison returned, with a flash of resentment, while hot tears of wounded feeling rushed to her eyes.
“I supposed, of course, you knew,” he faltered, flushing sensitively, “the newspapers were full of the affair.”