"And is that why you went there?"
"Yes, sir."
"No other reason?"
"No, sir—none—except that it was back, or south, and we were going that way anyhow."
"I see. And that was Thursday, July eighth?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, now, Clyde, as you have seen, it has been charged here that you took Miss Alden to and out on that lake with the sole and premeditated intent of killing her—murdering her—finding some unobserved and quiet spot and then first striking her with your camera, or an oar, or club, or stone maybe, and then drowning her. Now, what have you to say to that? Is that true, or isn't it?"
"No, sir! It's not true!" returned Clyde, clearly and emphatically. "I never went there of my own accord in the first place, and I only went there because she didn't like Grass Lake." And here, because he had been sinking down in his chair, he pulled himself up and looked at the jury and the audience with what measure of strength and conviction he could summon—as previously he had been told to do. At the same time he added: "And I wanted to please her in any way that I could so that she might be a little more cheerful."
"Were you still as sorry for her on this Thursday as you had been the day before?"
"Yes, sir—more, I think."