Mrs. Eastwood was then called. This poor lady had been more unhappy than I can tell ever since she was aware that her testimony would be called for against poor Innocent. “What shall I say?” she had asked, with clasped hands and streaming eyes, of Innocent’s counsel, from whom first she learned the real gravity of her position.
“Tell the truth, ma’am,” that functionary had said sharply; for he was prepossessed against the aunt, who had, he thought, endeavoured to keep Innocent from speaking freely, and who had, no doubt, forced the poor girl into a marriage which destroyed what little mind she had. Poor Mrs. Eastwood tried to dry her tears and smother her indignation. And now the dreadful moment had come when she must tell that truth in all its naked bareness, without the explanations which she knew changed its character so completely. Her appearance was for the public at least the most exciting event of the day.
“You remember the morning of the 21st of October?” said the counsel for the prosecution.
“Oh, indeed, alas! I do,” said the poor woman, the tears coming to her eyes. This injudicious warmth of assent was indicated to her as something wrong by the sharp cough of Mr. Serjeant Ryder, who, however, did not look at her; but Sir Alexis did, and Nelly, who clasped her hands and fixed an entreating glance on her mother, full of unutterable things. These warnings did, I think, less good than harm, for they confused the unfortunate witness beyond description.
“Something remarkable, then, happened on that morning? The prisoner was absent from home, so far as I understand, on the day before?”
“She was on a visit at her cousin’s, near Sterborne,” said Mrs. Eastwood, “or at least so I thought.”
“I see from the depositions,” continued the counsel, “that the prisoner arrived suddenly at your house on the morning of the 21st. Will you be good enough to inform the court of the circumstances attending her return home?”
Mrs. Eastwood paused; she gave an anxious look round, to her daughter, to Sir Alexis, finally to the familiar countenance of the judge, who seemed to look at her with that twinkle in his eye of incipient sarcasm and amusement which she had encountered before. She met, too, from a distant corner the frowning, peremptory look of Frederick, who, being far off, raised a finger to her in warning—warning of what? She drew a long breath of reluctance and fear.
“I hope I need not tell a lady of your education,” said the counsel peremptorily, “that hesitation can only harm the unfortunate prisoner. No prevarication will help her. Everybody must feel for your very painful position; but you are pledged, I must remind you, to conceal nothing, to inform the court of the truth. The prisoner came home suddenly on the morning of Sunday, the 21st of October. You did not expect her, believing her to be safe with her relation?”
“I did not expect her,” said Mrs. Eastwood, faltering; “she was to have stayed for some weeks; still, as she was a little peculiar in her ways of acting, and very fond of home, and frightened of strangers, I should not have been surprised, at any time——”