The Grey Man

by S. R. Crockett

Then there came one after the other the Dominie, Meg Dalrymple, Robert Harburgh, and lastly my own Nell. But they had little more to tell than I had told at the first, till the herald of the court cried out for Marjorie Mure, or Kennedy, called in the pleas the younger lady of Auchendrayne.

Then, pale as a lily flower is pale, clad in white, and with her hair daintily and smoothly braided, she rose and gave her hand to my Lord Cassillis, who brought her with all dignity and observance to the witness stance. So firmly she stood within it, that she seemed a figure of some goddess done in alabaster, the like of that which I had once seen at the entering in of the King's palace at Holy rood House.

There was the stillest silence while Marjorie told her tale. The King stood up in his place, with his hat on his head, to look at her. The judges gazed as though they had seen a ghost. But in an even voice she related all the terrible story, making it clear as crystal, till there stood out the full wickedness of the unparalleled murders.

'You are the wife of James Mure, the younger prisoner,' said the man of leather, the advocate Russell,; 'how then do you appear to give evidence against him?'

'I was first the daughter of Thomas Kennedy of Culzean, whom these men slew!' said she.

And this was her sole answer. The lawyers for the defence, as was their duty, tried to make it out that her evidence was prejudiced, and so to shake it. But the King broke out upon them, 'No more than we are all prejudiced against foul murder!'

So they were silenced. But the judges were manifestly ill at ease, and shifted in their seats—for even the King had not liberty of speech in that place. Yet no man said him nay, because he was the King, and, save it were Maister Robert Bruce, not many cared to brook his sudden violent rages.

Then was entered James Bannatyne, who had been brought to confession (in what fashion it boots not to inquire), and he in his turn detailed, line by line, all the iniquity. So it seemed that now the net was indeed woven about the cruel plotters. But my Lord President, by the King's authority, was instant with the prisoners to confess the murdering of Sir Thomas and of the other—yea, even offering his life (but no more) to either of them who would reveal the matter, and tell who were complices in the conspiracy.

And I think James Mure the younger was a little moved at this offer, for I saw him very plainly move and shift the hand that was upon his head. His father watched him with a sharp eye, and once set his manacled wrist upon his son's shoulder, as it had been to encourage him to remain firm. He himself stood erect and undaunted all the time of the trial, like a tower of ancient strength, while his son sat upon a stool with his back against the bars of the box, as it seemed careless of the crimes which were alleged against him. He had not even lifted his eyes when his wife Marjorie went into the place of witnessing.

At last it was all over, and the men of the jury spoke earnestly together, while John Mure watched them with his lionlike eyes shining from under his hassock of grey hair. The King sat impatiently drumming his hands upon a rail. He would have liked, I could see, to go over to confer with them. But even King Jamie had hardly dared so much as that.