"Did you see anything of the prisoner later, between half-past one and two, the time he alleges as that of his going home?"
"I never saw the prisoner at all that night, sir."
"He could have gone in, as he states, without your seeing him?" interposed the prisoner's counsel.
"Yes, certainly, a dozen times over. My beat extended to half-a-mile beyond Mr. Dare's."
One witness, who was placed in the box, created a profound sensation: for it was the unhappy father, Anthony Dare. Since the deed was committed, two months ago, Mr. Dare had been growing old. His brow was furrowed, his cheeks were wrinkled, his hair was turning white, and he looked, as he obeyed the call to the witness-box, as a man sinking under a heavy weight of care. Many of the countenances present expressed deep commiseration for him.
He was sworn, and various questions were asked him. Amongst others, whether he knew anything of the quarrel which had taken place between his two sons.
"Personally, nothing," was the reply. "I was not at home."
"It has been testified that when they were parted, your son Herbert threatened his brother. Is he of a revengeful disposition?"
"No," replied Mr. Dare, with emotion; "that, I can truly say, he is not. My poor son, Anthony, was somewhat given to sullenness; but Herbert never was."
"There had been a great deal of ill-feeling between them of late, I believe."