Tamworth could not but gaze in admiration at this witness. Her face showed traces of a night of unrest and intense thought and worry. If there was any disturbance of mind from the ordeal, it did not prevent the manifestation of a resolution that was almost heroic. She steadily returned the gaze of the coroner and remained as silent as a sphinx. It was this attitude of determination and self reliance, that, even more than her beauty, awakened the admiration of the lawyer. He was not a man with heart wholly unresponsive to the magnetism of brilliant eyes; but his natural susceptibility had been so toned by years of experience, that it was the exhibition of strength of soul in another that set the strings of his being in vibration.
“What is your answer?”
“I can not answer,” said the witness, decidedly.
It was her tone that caused the coroner to forbear pressing the question; and with the idea of reverting to it, he started on a new tack.
“Was any one injured except the dead man?” he inquired, casting his eyes upon the rapier.
“No,” she answered.
He nodded significantly to the actor, and at the same time Dodsman touched his shoulder, whispering, “My theory is right; Marlowe was slain with his own weapon.”
“Was there a combat?”
“There was.”
“But wait,” said the coroner, “I forgot to ask if you were legally—I mean when were you married?”