Fashion and Famine Part 66

It was not the bashful tremor which might have brought crimson to the brow of any female, while so many eyes were bent upon her, but a strong nervous excitement, which lifted her above all these considerations. The contrast of a black velvet dress flowing to her feet, and fitted high at the throat, might have added somewhat to the singular effect produced by a face at once so stern and so beautiful. Certain it is, that a thrill of that respect which strong feeling always carries with it, pa.s.sed through the crowd; and though she was strikingly lovely, people forgot that, in sympathy for the emotions that she suppressed with such fort.i.tude. The rapidity with which she had entered the court, and the position which she took on the stand, prevented a full view of her face to Mrs. Warren and Julia; but as she turned slowly toward them, in throwing back her veil, the effect upon these two persons was startling enough.

The old woman half rose from her chair, her lips moved, as if a smothered cry had died upon them, and she sat down again, grasping a fold of Mrs. Gray's gown in her hands. It was the face she had seen in the carriage that morning.

Julia also recognized the lady, with a start. It was the woman who had purchased flowers of her so often, who had been so invariably kind, and whose fate had been strongly blended with her own since the first day when she had purchased violets from her flower basket.

There was something startling to the young girl in this sudden apparition of a person who had been to her almost like fate itself. At that solemn moment she drew her breath heavily, and listened with painful attention for the first words that might fall upon the court.

Mrs. Gray also was filled with astonishment, for she saw her own brother, Jacob Strong, enter the court, walking close behind the lady, until she mounted the stand, with the air and manner of an attendant.

When the lady took her position, he drew back toward the door, and stood motionless, gazing anxiously upon her face, without turning his eyes aside even for an instant. It was in vain Mrs. Gray motioned with her hand that he should approach her; all his senses seemed swallowed up by keen interest in the lady. He had no existence for the time but in her.

Of all the persons in that court-room, there was not one who did not exhibit some unusual interest in the woman placed so unexpectedly upon the witnesses' stand, except the prisoner himself. He had been, during some moments, sitting with his forehead bent upon his clasped hands, lost in thought, or, it might be, in silent prayer to the G.o.d who had, as it seemed, almost abandoned him. He did not look up when the lady entered, and not till the examination had proceeded to some considerable length, was he aware of her presence.

It was worthy of remark, that the prosecuting attorney addressed this witness with a degree of respect which he had extended to no other person. His voice, hitherto so sharp and biting, took a subdued tone.

His manner became deferential, and the opening questions, in which he was usually abrupt, almost to rudeness, were now rather insinuated than demanded.

He waived the usual preliminaries regarding the age and name of the witness, and even apologized for the necessity which had compelled him to bring her before the court.

The lady listened to all this with a little impatience; she was evidently in no state of mind for commonplace gallantries, and seemed relieved when he commenced those direct questions which were to place her evidence before the court.

"Mrs. Gordon, that is your name, I believe!"

The lady bent her head.

"Did you know Mr. William Leicester when he was living?"

A faint tremor pa.s.sed over the lady's lips, but she answered clearly, though in a very subdued voice--

"Yes, I knew him!"

"He visited at your house sometimes?"

"Yes!"

"When did you see him last?"

"On the----" Her voice became almost inaudible as she uttered the date; but the lawyer had keen ears, and forbore to ask a repet.i.tion of the words, for her face changed suddenly, and it seemed with a violent effort that she was able to go on.

"At what hour did he leave your house?"

"I do not know the exact hour!"

"Was it late?"

"Yes, I gave a ball that night, and my guests generally remained late!"

"Did you observe anything peculiar in his manner that night? Did he act like a man that was likely to commit suicide in the morning?"

It was half a minute before the lady gave any reply to this question; then she spoke with an effort, as if some nervous affection were almost choking her.

"I cannot judge--I do not know. It is a strange question to ask me!"

"I regret its necessity!" said the attorney, with a deferential bend of the head; "our object is," he added, addressing the judge, "to show by this witness, how the deceased was occupied during the night before his murder. I believe it is the intention of the defence to claim that William Leicester killed himself; that it was a case of suicide instead of the foul murder we will prove it to have been. I wish to show by this lady that he was a guest in her mansion up to a late hour; that he joined in the festivities of a ball, and was among the most cheerful revellers present. I must repeat the question, madam--did you remark anything singular in his manner--anything to distinguish him from other guests?"

The lady parted her lips, struggled, and answered--

"No, I saw nothing!" She lifted her eyes after this, as if impelled by some magnetic power, and met those of the tall, gaunt man, who had followed her into court. His look of sorrowful reproach seemed to sting her, and she spoke again, louder and more resolutely. "There was nothing in the words or acts of William Leicester, that night, which warranted an idea of suicide--nothing!"

A faint sound, not quite a groan, but deeper than a sigh, broke from Jacob Strong; and he shrunk back into the crowd, with his head drooping like some animal stricken with an arrow, and anxious to hide the wound.

That moment, as if actuated by one of those impulses that seem like the strides of fate toward an object, the district attorney said, as it seemed in the very wantonness of his professional privilege,

"Look at the prisoner, madam. Did you ever see him before?"

The lady turned partly round and looked toward the prisoner's seat. The old man had his head bowed, for the sight of his insensible grandchild had left him strengthless, and she could only distinguish the soft wave of grey hairs around his temples, and the stoop of a figure venerable from age.

"Stand up," commanded the judge, addressing the old man; "stand up that the witness may look upon your face!"

The old man arose and stood upright. His eyes were lifted slowly, and met those of the woman, which were filled with cold abhorrence of the being she was forced to look upon. I cannot describe those two faces as their eyes were riveted upon each other; both were instantly pale as death. After a moment, in which something of doubt mingled with its corpse-like pallor, that of the woman took an expression of almost terrible affright. Her pale lips quivered; her eyes distended with wild brilliancy. She lifted one hand that shook like an aspen, and swept it across her eyes once, twice, as if to clear their vision. She did not attempt to speak; the sight of that old man chilled her through and through, body and soul. She seemed freezing into marble.

The change that came upon the prisoner was not less remarkable. At first there settled upon his face a look of the most painful astonishment. It deepened, changed, and as snow becomes luminous when the suns.h.i.+ne strikes it, the very pallor of his features brightened. Affection, tenderness, the most thrilling grat.i.tude beamed through their whiteness, and while her gaze was fascinated by his, he stretched forth his arms.

This scene was so strange, the agitation of these persons so unaccountable, that it held the whole court breathless. You might have heard an insect stir in any part of that vast room. It seemed with every breath as if some cry must burst from the old man--as if the lady would sink to the earth, dead, so terrible was her agitation. But the prisoner only stretched forth his arms, and it seemed as if this slight motion restored the lady to herself. Her face hardened; she turned away, withdrawing her gaze slowly, as if the effort cost her a mortal pang.

Then she answered,

"No, I do not recognize him!"

Her lips were like marble, and her voice so husky that it made the hearers shrink, but every word was clearly enunciated.

The old man fell back to his seat; his arms dropped heavily down; he too seemed frozen into stone.

For a moment the witness stood mute and still; then she started all at once, turned and descended into the crowd.

Mrs. Warren, whom no one had observed during this scene, arose from her seat as the lady pa.s.sed, and followed her. The crowd closed around them, but the old woman struggled through, and laid a trembling grasp upon the velvet dress that floated before her like the waves of a pall. The lady turned her white face sharply round, and it came close to that of the old woman. A convulsion stirred her features; she lifted her arm as if to fling it around that frail form, then dashed it down, tearing her dress from that feeble grasp, and walked steadily out of the court.

CHAPTER x.x.xV.

THE VERDICT.

Tread lightly here--let outraged justice weep!

There had been a severe change in the weather since morning. The pure frosty air, that invigorated everything it touched, hardened toward night, into one of those cold storms--half snow, half ice--that chill you to the vitals. A coating of this sleety snow lay upon the Park, icing the trees with crystal, and bending every twig as with a fruitage of pearls. The stone pavement and the City Hall steps were carpeted an inch deep by the storm; and the hail crackled sharply under foot if any one attempted to pa.s.s over them. In short, it was one of those nights when everything living seeks shelter, and no human being is seen abroad, save those given up to wild desolation, either of body or mind.

Miserable and stormy as the night was, two persons had been wandering in it for hours, sometimes lost in the blackness of the storm, sometimes gliding by the lamps that seemed struggling to keep themselves alive--and again stealing up the curving staircase within the City Hall, ghost-like and shadowy, only to come forth in the tempest and wander as before.

In the darkness, it would have been difficult to judge of the s.e.x or condition of those persons. Both were m.u.f.fled in garments black as the clouds that hung over them. Both were tall, and, sometimes as they walked, the outlines of their persons blended together, till they seemed scarcely more than a ma.s.s of moving darkness. It was remarkable that, standing or walking, they never lost sight of a range of windows in one wing of the City Hall, where lights shone gloomily into the mist, not wandering about as the lamps of a happy household often do, but motionless, like watchfires, half smothered by the dense atmosphere.

Once more these two persons ascended the steps and entered the vestibule, from which the horse-shoe staircase diverges. A shower of sleet followed them, and the wind swept wailing over their heads as they went in. A lamp burned near the staircase, and for a moment, the faces of those two wanderers became visible. The one that struck you first, was that of a female. Tresses, that had of late been curled, hung in dripping ma.s.ses down each side of her face, that was not only as white, but seemed cold also as marble. A pair of wild eyes, really blue, but blackened with the smothered fire that protracted suspense leaves behind it, gleamed out from the shadow of her bonnet, around which the folds of a heavy lace veil dripped in sodden ma.s.ses to her shoulders. The velvet cloak which shrouded her was heavy with rain; its l.u.s.tre all gone, and its rich fringes, frozen together with sleet, rattled against the bal.u.s.trades as she pressed them in pa.s.sing. Her companion--but even as we attempt to describe him, the woman turns, with her hand upon the bal.u.s.trade, and addresses him--thus giving his ident.i.ty better than any description could convey.