When Drake entered she received him quietly, and silenced his words of sympathy.
“I would rather not talk of it,” she said wearily. “I have sent for you because I wish you to take me to the police court. My brother refuses to go.”
“Do you think it wise?” he asked hurriedly.
“I wish the world to see that I believe in my husband’s innocence, and the best way of showing it is by being present.”
“I, too, intend to go,” Lady Ethel announced from the doorway, but she took no notice of Edward Drake, not even vouchsafing him a glance.
Drake then left them to find out the time when the case would be heard, and they reached the court just before twelve o’clock. Curious glances were thrown at them as they entered, and soon it became known that Gaunt’s wife was present. Lady Mildred’s face was devoid of expression, but under the insistent staring she grew nervous, so that at last she let fall a thick veil which effectually concealed her features. However, her purpose had been accomplished, for it would be reported in the papers that she was present.
It was not until her husband stood in the dock that she really realized that he was a prisoner, and she clutched tightly at her sister’s hand.
If they should find him guilty?
The mere thought caused her heart to throb madly, and when she caught sight of the Baron’s smiling face, she could have cried out in her agony. But soon her attention became concentrated upon counsel’s speech, and she followed his words with an eagerness that was painful.
And then there came the description of the crime with which Gaunt was accused. A quiet gasp escaped her as she understood the meaning of what had been said. John—her husband—had robbed a white man of his wife—a native woman—and then had shot the man whom he had robbed. Her husband accused of such baseness! It was incredible! But was it possible that these people could bring such a charge unless there were some foundation for it? An intense jealousy seized her in its grip and she rose to her feet.