"And, if it's not improper, I wish to say that I am not here of my own choosing, for as sure as my name is Bertha Lund, Robert Floyd never set that fire."
This sally was received in silence by the spectators. They looked expectantly toward the judge and the attorneys. Floyd's look was as spirited and firm as ever, as he scanned the faces packed around him, nodding to a lady in the front bench, but letting his eyes dwell oftenest, with a kind of interrogative look, followed by an expression of soft satisfaction, on a younger face. It was golden-haired Emily Barlow, transfixed with interest in the proceedings. Not even the dark visage of the negro in the corner stood out so cameo-like from the multitude as hers, partly by its sweetness of beauty, but more by the parted lips and eager gaze.
"The witness is not to volunteer opinions, but simply to give the facts she is requested to give, clearly and truthfully, as her oath requires." This reproof was not harshly spoken by the judge. "You may continue, Mr. Badger."
"Mr. Floyd was in the study, then?"
"Yes, sir, he was."
"Where the fire started?"
"It started in the study."
"Will you describe to the court, without any omissions, everything you did and everything you saw Mr. Floyd do from the time he opened the study door until you descended the stairway and discovered the room afire?"
"Well, sir, when Mr. Robert unlocked the door——"
"Which door?"