University of Virginia Library

20. CHAPTER XX.

The day of trial was now at hand. Notwithstanding the
steadfast assurance of Counsellor Fay, who must have had something
in reserve, which he kept to himself — some question of
law, perhaps, or some flaw in the indictment — or he could not
have been so very sure, one would think; the Major was gloomy
and peevish, silent and thoughtful, and oftentimes, while appearing
to strive with a Christian manfulness against the encumbering
shadow, so absent-minded, that he would not even hear what
was said to him as they sat alone together, hour after hour, in
the daytime or late in the evening; or if he heard at all, it would
be without appearing to understand or to remember; and what
alarmed the family more than anything else — more indeed than
his changed look and altered voice, and the startling suddenness
of his movements, when, after a long silence, like that we are
accustomed to in the chamber of death, he would spring up from
the sofa, and look about him, as if wandering in his mind, or not
fully awake, was a growing forgetfulness, and a selfish indifference
to the comfort of others, wholly foreign to his nature. Magnanimous
and considerate, — and so unselfish as he had always been,
this unhappy change kept Mrs. Maynard awake, and filled her
with dismal apprehensions, which deprived her of all appetite
and strength, and sometimes of all hope, for a season. But she
was faithful in prayer, and her heart swelled with trust and
thankfulness, whenever she thought of Him who said to the disciple
about to be sifted by the great Accuser, — “I have prayed
for thee, that thy faith fail not;” and she was greatly strengthened
and comforted.

Another circumstance, which came to her knowledge on the
afternoon of Monday, preceding the day of trial, went far to encourage

her, and fill her heart with new hope, even while it filled
her eyes with tears. Mr. Bayard, who was a regular attendant
at the prayer-meetings in Fulton Street, although he seldom
opened his mouth in them now, having a notion that new voices
are like new truths in such a place, whatever may be their testimony,
and that new witnesses are always most welcome, told her
that one day when the presiding brother called for a season of
silent prayer, and requested that any who wished to be prayed
for, would either rise and say so — or rise without speaking —
or lift a hand, which would be understood as a cry for help — as
a signal of distress — many persons half-rose — and many hands
were lifted, and among others that of her brother; and straightway
prayers followed, and he sat near enough to that brother,
without being seen, to know that he was deeply moved, and that
while others around him were sobbing and weeping, as if their
very hearts would break, he slipped down upon the floor, and
kneeling, covered his face with his hands, while prayer after
prayer came up for every troubled spirit, and a cry followed,
“Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I
will give you rest!” which thrilled the multitude, like a voice
from another world. Her brother arose, just as a song of triumph
burst forth from all parts of the house, and stole away without
speaking to anybody, or turning his head; but Mr. Bayard was
near enough to see that he was pale and trembling, and that his
lashes were wet.

No wonder she was comforted and strengthened. If that
beloved brother cared to be prayed for — and by strangers —
it was quite certain that, with his bitter experience, and with the
knowledge of himself, and of the deceitfulness of his own heart,
which he had lately acquired, he must be in the habit of praying
for himself; and she felt sure, that whatever else he might be,
he was not hopeless, — and she longed to throw herself upon that
dear brother's neck and say to him, “O my brother! how is it
with thee? — Be not faithless, but believing!” and was only
prevented, after she came to the knowledge of what had happened,
by a change for the better in his look and bearing, as
the hour drew nigh when he was to be put upon trial — if not
for his life — at least for his character, which to a mere man

of the world, having no hope in the future, would be more
dreadful.

At an early hour on the day appointed, much earlier than
might otherwise have been desirable, the Major, Mr. Fay, and
the witnesses for the defence, were all together in court. Calm
and serious, and, judging by what followed, perfectly self-possessed;
and though very pale, neither weak nor trembling, it was
evident that the accused made a favorable impression, from the
first, upon all who had an opportunity of studying his countenance;
but of the many middle-aged men, of high character and
position, he saw within the bar, and with whom he had been
somewhat acquainted, either in the way of business, or over the
dinner-table, no one had the courage to speak with him, or even
to interchange a distant salutation, — and but for the Recorder
himself, who greeted him and Mr. Fay together, as they bowed
to the bench, — and a gentleman who pressed forward and gave
him his hand, while the eyes of others were full of astonishment,
or unbelief, and the more experienced members of the bar began
bowing and whispering together, and the by-standers nodded and
smiled, and the name of Talmadge was heard, the Major would
have been altogether unsupported, — for even Mr. Bayard was
absent, and Mr. Fay had been called off into the witness-room,
where he found Mrs. Maynard looking very pale, though queenly,
Miss Wentworth bustling about, and talking to everybody that
would listen, with her handkerchief to her eyes, and changing her
seat every time the door opened, or a step came near; Sallie
Webb coquetting with her beautiful hair, which had broken loose,
and fallen over her shoulders, and pushed off her little bonnet;
and so managing as to show one of the prettiest ungloved hands,
and a pair of the most provoking little feet you ever saw — and
with such a spirited instep! — to poor Arthur, while twisting herself
away, so as to peep through a crack of the door, and keep her
eyes on the prisoner, — “the handsomest man she ever saw in
all her life, she vowed! and she didn't care who knew it” —
and watch the changes of his countenance — till she forgot to
breathe; Mrs. Archibald, with the bearing of a high-bred gentlewoman,
serious and thoughtful; and half a score of other witnesses
in the case, he judged, by the interest they appeared to

take in everything that happened just then; two or three with
police badges, and one, at least, whom he recognized for an adroit
London detective, and who appeared to be listening, while he
walked softly and slowly to and fro, the whole length of the
room, and at such a distance, at first, as to excite no suspicion,
though he came gradually nearer and nearer, at every turn, apparently
lost in thought, with his hands behind him, and a toothpick
playing loosely between his lips.

Mr. Fay thought proper to give the witnesses a hint, and,
touching Arthur on the shoulder with a look not to be misunderstood,
he called his attention to the eavesdropper.

Arthur kindled at once, and but for another touch and another
look from Mr. Fay, would have instantly called the gentleman
of the toothpick to account; for notwithstanding the fellow's
apparent abstraction, Arthur saw by his keen, restless eyes, and
the working of his mouth — to say nothing of his ears — that
he was indeed a dangerous listener, and lost nothing of what was
said, though he never looked that way, nor appeared to see what
was going on.

The name of Mr. Fay was now called. An officer appeared
at the door of the witness-room, and repeated it aloud, — there
was a moment of breathless and terrible suspense — the whispering
ceased all about them — the listener stopped — and all
eyes were turned toward Mr. Fay, who, with a look of imperturbable
serenity — almost of cheerfulness, indeed — shook hands
with Mrs. Maynard and Julia, — with Julia first, Arthur observed
— and bowing to the others, followed the officer.

The door opened somewhat wider, with a touch of Sallie
Webb's foot, and while she was leaning forward and watching
the procedure, the name of George A. Pendleton was called.
The prisoner took his place near a table, with Mr. Fay on his
right, and a stranger, who appeared to have been called into the
case, not so much for legal consultation, as for the purpose of
taking minutes, which might be depended upon hereafter. The
newspapers had been full of the matter, day after day, and week
after week. Paragraphs had appeared which, however intended,
were of a nature to greatly prejudice the public mind against the
accused. Stories were told, having no foundation whatever, and

others having barely truth enough to give them currency, were
sent over the whole length and breadth of the land, through thousands
of newspapers, — and not a few of them with illustrations
and portraitures, no two of which were alike, while most of them
were instantly recognized by the purveyors of the day, for old
acquaintances. Under a show of pleasantry, many of these paragraphs
were full of bitterness and sarcasm. Little or nothing
was remembered of his liberality and kindness to the poor, of his
attention to his countrymen abroad, nor of his great influence
and high position as one of the acknowledged representatives of
American character, among the largest commercial houses and
wealthiest bankers of Europe; while much was hunted up, and
republished, with alterations and catching amendments, about his
enormous wealth, ostentation, and princely extravagance — all
which was now accounted for — and about his magnificent dinners,
where his countrymen were gathered by scores, along with
the leaders of parliament, law officers of the crown, authors, travellers,
painters and sculptors, with a sprinkling of the nobility
and gentry, and, in short, samples at every gathering of all the
celebrities of the day, worth calling together. Many Joe Miller
stories were newly furbished up, and reproduced, and some that
were hardly true thirty-five years before, when they were first
told of the Duke of Sussex and Mr. Pettigrew, and their converzazioni,
— and of the Rothschilds and their marriage suppers,
and balls, and masquerades, all coming together. But however
preposterous or out of date, all these mischievous anecdotes had
been repeated day after day, and week after week, till, as the
time drew near, and it was most needful that the accused should
be considered innocent until proved guilty, there seemed to be
but one opinion of the case — judging by the newspapers —
and no possibility of a fair trial. Not one of the many hundreds
who were continually forging new paragraphs upon the subject
— so that the business of the newsboys, and village gossips, and
solemn whisperers all over the land, should not flag till the question
was settled forever, and nothing more was to be made by
untruth — ever thought of suggesting that — perhaps — after
all — there might be another side to the story; or that a man
of such high character, maintained so long in the midst of a
watchful and suspicious community, always jealous of strangers
from abroad, however tolerant with Americans, after they have
got established, would not be very likely to cast himself headlong
from a precipice, under any conceivable temptation, presenting
itself in the shape of downright forgery.

The court-room was crowded, and all the approaches, lobbies,
and antechambers were thronged to suffocation, and there were
hundreds about the doors, huddled together on the steps, or
elbowing their way through the chief entrance — not a few of
whom had been waiting, hour after hour, while others had gone
without their breakfast, on the morning of the trial, as thousands
did at the time of the Bond Street tragedy.

The time dragged heavily; but the solemn business went on,
and on, and on, with that unrelenting, cold, and heartless formality,
so dreadful to the inexperienced — like a midnight
procession to the tolling of a midnight bell — and the death-like
stillness grew more and more oppressive, till the jury were impanelled,
the witnesses called and seated by themselves — all
but Julia, who was treated with the greatest possible consideration
by the prosecutor, and left undisturbed, where she might
hear and see all that was going on, without being flurried, or
called upon to lift her veil.

The indictment being read, as before, in such a manner as to
show the case to have been prejudged by the clerk of the court,
however it might be regarded by others, the prosecutor stood up
to lay the facts, upon which the government relied, and which
he expected to prove, not so much before the court and jury, as
before his brethren of the bar, and the by-standers and outsiders;
representatives, most of them, of what is called by the newspapers,
public opinion.

The principles of law which governed the case were stated
with uncommon brevity and clearness; and the facts were so
arranged, and set forth in such a masterly fashion — with such
an appearance of truthfulness, and with so little of exaggeration,
— that, long before he had finished, there seemed to be no hope
for the accused, if one might judge by the countenances about
him.

Julia, and her aunt, and Arthur, now heard the whole story

for the first time; and their hearts died away within them. They
had kept clear of the newspapers; and, notwithstanding their uneasiness,
had forborne questioning each other; and although Miss
Wentworth and her niece had long been familiar, as they believed,
with all the facts and circumstances, or with what would be called
the substantial merits of the case, they had never seen them so
arranged in the newspapers, and they were appalled — overwhelmed
— and afraid to look each other in the face.

As the prosecutor mentioned these facts and circumstances in
their order, there was no mistaking the expression of the faces
about him. Julia held her breath, and Arthur felt somebody
clutching at his hand — it was not his mother — and the sobbing
and trembling that followed, might have unmanned him,
but for the fact, that he felt the eyes of a stranger upon him,
and through the thickened folds of poor Julia's gathered veil, he
fancied he saw the face of a dead woman. For a moment, the
delusion was frightful; but he recovered himself instantly, and
putting Julia's hand into his mother's, he withdrew from the
observation he had attracted a moment before, by the sudden
changes of his countenance, while they were listening to the prosecutor;
who, after dwelling upon the twisted and burnt fragments
of notes found by the watchman in Broadway — the numbers
and marks of which corresponded precisely with those which they
would find in the published list of the forged notes — went on to
say, with signs of deep feeling, that these very notes, corresponding
with the marks and numbers, he had called their attention to,
would not only be brought home to the knowledge and possession
of the accused, but would be shown, by a most unexceptionable
witness — whom, on account of her relationship to the prisoner,
it would be a most painful duty for him to produce — to have
been partially destroyed by the accused in her presence, by
twisting them together and throwing them into the fire, with an
acknowledgment that they were spurious.”

Julia started; and the prosecutor, who had fastened his eye
upon her, corrected himself.

“Or, rather, that they were worthless. Providentially the wind
was high, and a strong draft took them up the flue unconsumed,
and they were carried across Broadway to the Metropolitan,

where — providentially again, he must be allowed to say — they
were picked up while they were yet blazing, by a watchman. It
may seem strange, very strange, gentlemen of the jury,” said he,
“that in such weather, a twist of paper like these” — holding up
the notes in two separate parcels, and in such a way as to show that
they were loosely and lightly twisted at one end only, the other
ends having been carefully unrolled for verification — “should
have attracted the attention of the witness; but he will inform
you that they were blazing when they fluttered by him, and struck
the snow, and that just when he was about trampling on them
with his foot, he saw something which led him to snatch them up,
and extinguish the flame with his hands.”

After allowing sufficient time for this array of providential
facts to make a suitable impression, the prosecutor went into a
detailed history of the intercepted letter; and of the notes found
in it, and brought home to the possession of the accused, by the
same witness, whom he, the prosecutor, had been so unwilling to
produce.

The brief, clear, unimpassioned, unexaggerated statement of
the learned gentleman, made a profound impression — it was not
to be denied nor concealed — upon all within hearing; and especially
upon the court and bar — to say nothing of the witnesses,
who had now the whole array of facts before them, for the first
time. The prosecutor glanced at the bench from underneath his
shaggy brows, during the progress of the narration; made long
pauses, and adjusted his spectacles, or took them off and wiped
them with the inside of a delicate glove he kept always within
reach, or took snuff with great emphasis and gravity, with his
eyes upon the judge, or upon the foreman of the jury, whenever
he came to a telling point; while the aged members of the bar
interchanged “nods, and winks, and wreathed smiles,” and most
of the younger were busy in laying down the law to all who sat
near enough to be whispered into, looking as if they had a retainer,
and foresaw everything, but were in no hurry to betray
themselves.

“We must have less talking and whispering, Mr. Officer,”
said the judge, rapping the desk with the handle of a penknife,
as he spoke.

“Silence there! silence!” cried the sheriff.

“Silence in court! silence there!” shouted the subordinates;
“less talking there, if you please, gentlemen!”

At this moment there was a great bustle at one of the doors,
and General Talmadge and Mr. Bayard were seen elbowing their
way through the crowd, followed by Arthur — flushed and heated
— with his hair flying loose in the wind, and all out of breath —
and making their way up to the table where the counsel for the
prisoner sat leaning back in his chair, with the noble countenance
of the Major full in view, and watching the changes he saw there,
from a death-like paleness, to a glow of generous indignation,
without a symptom of uneasiness.

“Make way there, make way!” bawled a tipstaff. “Stand
back, will ye!”

The crowd heaved and surged, this way and that, as if really
anxious to give the Superintendent and witnesses a free passage;
but they were so wedged together, that instead of opening right
and left, as they intended, they were obliged to turn sideways
and shuffle backward and forward, and make themselves less,
by stretching up their necks and standing on tiptoe.

But the Superintendent was not a man to be baffled or delayed
by a crowd, as they well knew, and he soon reached Mr.
Fay, who had been troubled by the long absence of Mr. Bayard,
following so immediately after they had been asked by the court
if both sides were ready, and both had answered “Yes;” and the
Major, too, was troubled; though neither would acknowledge it
to the other, now that they had him seated within reach, and
looking so calm and self-possessed, with eyes that seemed preter-naturally
large, and bright and clear, in the shadow of his broad-brimmed
hat.

He had been listening to the prosecutor, and occupying a chair
just behind Julia, near the half-open door of the witness-room,
while he set forth all the facts and circumstances with such apparent
moderation and conscientiousness; and now, though he
might well have appeared anxious, as he looked about him, and
saw the telling effect upon every countenance — instead of showing
the least shadow of alarm, he only waited for the prosecutor
to finish, and look about him, and call upon the witnesses to step

forward — Julia, among the rest, and all by their names — to
touch Mr. Fay on the shoulder, and say in a voice loud enough
to reach the prosecutor himself, and most of the bar, if not the
bench — “that if he were going to manage the case without help,
he should get up at once, and acknowledge and admit everything
as now stated by the prosecutor; so that he would have no occasion
for witnesses, and poor Julia might be spared the distress of
a protracted, and most painful examination.”

“Indeed!” whispered Mr. Fay, with a sarcastic smile.

“I mean just what I say, Winthrop; and before thee gets
through, thee will be of my opinion — or I miss my guess.”

The prosecutor grew nervous and fidgety; and most of the
aged members of the bar, within ear-shot, fell a-whispering, while
the juniors began questioning everybody near, with “who is it?
who is it?” But nobody appeared to know; and the witnesses
were called upon to step forward.

“Whom will you take first?” said the judge, as they stood up
together in a long row — some five-and-twenty strong, and the
oath had been administered to them.

“Neither of these, your honor,” said the prosecutor, — “but
the young lady, I mentioned. Mr. Officer — be pleased to lead
Miss Julia Parry into court.”

Hearing her name called, and seeing the messenger on his
way to her, Julia arose, followed by Miss Wentworth and her
niece, and came forward two or three steps, and stood in the
door-way waiting for him, without remembering to drop her
veil — so that her wonderful face and lofty bearing — and large
serene eyes — and trembling mouth — and steadfast look — were
in full view of the crowd.

A murmur of heartfelt approbation filled the house, and
brought the poor child instantly to her senses, and the death-like
paleness gave way to a sudden flush, and the veil was instantly
dropped, and the beautiful apparition vanished.

“Shall I not go for her?” whispered Arthur to Mr. Fay —
trembling from head to foot, as he leaned forward.

“Not for your life, Sir! We may want you for a witness —
and witnesses had better be strangers.”

The officer having led her up, and placed her by the witness-box,

Mr. Attorney took charge of her, handing her in, with a
low bow, and looking about over the eager, up-turned faces of
his brethren, as if to prepare them for still further revelations
after the veil should be lifted.

“Please your honor — I pray that the witness may be sworn.”

“The lady will remove her veil,” said the judge.

Julia bowed — blushed — and threw aside her veil, and after
taking the oath, was requested by the prosecutor to face the jury
— “the gentlemen you see there,” said he, with a flourish of his
right arm toward the jury-box, meant to be very impressive; but
Julia saw only a row of hard, strange-looking faces — two or
three shining heads without hair on the top, and others with
hair that evidently belonged to somebody else, much younger
and of a different complexion; one very fat man, with a large
double chin, and spectacles awry upon his forehead; and another
whose look fascinated her, so that she could not withdraw her
gaze — having a huge, lion-like head, with a ponderous jaw,
and a large, heavy black beard, from the midst of which a mass
of white gushed forth, like foam from a fountain — and might
never have suspected the truth, or known where to look, but for
the everlasting repetition of the words, “gentlemen of the jury.”

“Are you well acquainted with the prisoner at the bar?” said
the prosecutor, in the blandest possible tones, while Mr. Fay's
brow contracted, and Arthur's eyes flashed fire.

“Yes, Sir.”

“And how long have you been so well acquainted with him?”

“From my earliest recollection.”

“Is he related to you — by marriage or otherwise?”

“He is the only brother of my” — her voice faltered a little
here — “of my late mother, Sir.”

“Well, Miss Parry, I am sorry to trouble you, — and but
for a sense of duty, which overbears all other consideration with
me, I should not have called you to the witness-box.” Julia
bowed. “Will you be so obliging now, as to state in your own
way, without being questioned, what you know of these bank-notes,
which appear to have been partly destroyed by fire; and
of these, which I have here in a letter bearing your signature,
I believe” — Julia bowed, and colored — “and what you know

of your uncle George having had to do with them. Please to
speak slowly — for we have to take down your words with great
care — and address yourself to that gentleman you see there,”
pointing to a pompous looking, red-faced man, with white hair
and a double chin.

Julia trembled, and the prosecutor handed her a chair, and
with permission of the court, begged her to be seated.

“Certainly,” said Mr. Fay, in reply to a questioning look
from her, before she seated herself.

And straightway, without a sign of trepidation or embarrassment,
she began at the beginning, and went through, slowly and
distinctly, step by step, with all the facts and circumstances elicited
at the examination before the grand jury; and in such a
way as to fill the bar with admiration — and bring tears into the
eyes of Miss Wentworth and Sallie Webb — while it only
served to render the situation of the accused more hopeless, and
to justify all the prosecutor had charged — and more.

“You can take the witness, brother Fay,” said the prosecutor
as he finished, throwing himself back in the chair, and twirling
a bit of twisted paper between two of his fingers, which, after
a while proved to be one of the very bank-notes he had been
so chary of. He had overshot his mark therefore, and while
counterfeiting a show of indifference, had betrayed himself to
the keen-sighted antagonist, who had been watching every look
of his eye, and every motion of his lip, and every change of
countenance from the first, without allowing himself to be overlooked
by anybody else.

“I have but one question to ask,” said Mr. Fay.

The prosecutor began to look troubled.

“In the course of your narrative, Miss Parry, you have been
called upon for the circumstances which happened at your hotel
when a Bank of England note, which you had sent out to be
changed, was returned to you — without any explanation.”

Julia bowed.

“Allow me to ask you, if your uncle was with you at the
time, and if he knew of your sending the note to be changed?”

“He did, Sir.”

“Did he know it was refused and returned to you?”

“He did, Sir.”

“What did he say at the time?”

“I object,” said the prosecutor. “The accused must not be
allowed to manufacture evidence for himself.”

“Part of the res gestæ, your honor,” said Mr. Fay. “I am
entitled, I suppose, to whatever explanations were given at the
time.”

The evidence was ruled in, and Mr. Fay proceeded.

“What did he say?”

“Nothing that I recollect, Sir. He was sitting at the table
with me, and must have heard my answer to the servant; but I
do not remember that he said anything, or that he interfered in
any way.”

“Did he caution you then — or afterward — or had he cautioned
you before, at any time, about offering any of these
notes?”

“No, Sir — never.”

“Yet he knew of your doing so?”

“Yes, Sir.”

At this moment, in the deep stillness that followed, showing
how profound the impression he had produced, and how favorable,
and while the breathless attention of the court and bar was
turned to the witness, and all eyes were fixed upon the prisoner,
who sat calmly facing the crowd, without a change of
countenance, or a look of disquietude or uneasiness, the quick
eye of Mr. Fay caught Mr. Bayard in the very act of slipping
a small fragment of paper toward him, which he had been playing
with, and upon which he had scribbled, as if in a fit of absence
a moment before, the following question: “Was there
nobody else in the room with witness, when the bank-note was
returned to her?” and leaning forward, without appearing to see
what was written, though not a word had escaped him, he shook
his head with a smile, and whispered, — “Perhaps they will
bring out the answer without our help;” and then turning to
the prosecutor, and saying he had no more questions to ask,
he managed to secure the fragment of paper, and soon after
to destroy it, without appearing to have any such purpose in
view.

After two or three questions going to different points in the
case, the prosecutor glanced at his notes, and appeared to recollect
something of importance, for he turned off into a different
path, and fastening his troublesome eyes upon poor Julia, asked
her where her brother was when she last heard from him?

“At Nicaragua.”

“Did he ever caution you before he went away, or afterward,
about offering these notes?”

Mr. Fay smiled, but he made no objection, though it was well
understood by court and bar, that if he did not, he must have
good reasons for such forbearance, and all waited patiently for
the answer.

“Not before he went away, Sir, but after hearing that I had
enclosed some of the notes to him, which he had never received
— and which I have since learned, were intercepted —”

Mr. Fay gave her a look which brought her to herself; and
the prosecutor said, “We shall explain that, by and by,” and
Julia continued as follows: —

“He added a few words of caution, begging me not to suffer
any of the notes, under any circumstances, to get into circulation;
and saying that he had good reasons for believing that they
were worthless, or that there was something wrong about them
— I do not give the words — I only give the substance from
recollection.”

“May it please the court,” said Mr. Fay, rising with a deferential
air, and speaking in a voice just loud enough to be heard
by his brethren, “I have been very unwilling to interrupt my
learned friend, or to interfere in any way with the course of examination
he has chosen to pursue, but he will acknowledge I
am sure, and your honor will see, that inasmuch as the witness
is undergoing an examination as to the contents of a paper written
by a third party, wholly unconnected, so far as now appears,
with any of these transactions, I submit whether it is competent
for my learned brother to question the witness without producing
the letter referred to — or accounting for its non-production —
supposing it to be admissible.”

“If my learned brother had been patient a few minutes
longer, he would have been spared the trouble he is now taking

— the paper referred to has been furnished me this morning by
the witness, and is now in my hand. I propose to ask the witness
whether —”

“Am I to understand that the counsel for the prisoner at the
bar objects to the paper as inadmissible, for any reason whatever?”
demanded the judge.

“I might do so, undoubtedly, your honor — as a matter
wholly foreign to the subject, and having, so far as now appears,
nothing to do with the case — but if my brother will permit me
to look at the paper, which I have not seen for a month, and
have had no opportunity of examining —”

The paper being handed to him, he ran his eye over it hurriedly,
and then reaching it back, said with an air of supreme
indifference, “I withdraw my objection. The government is
welcome to whatever advantage they may hope to obtain by
the procedure.”

“Please read the paragraph relating to these bank-notes,” said
the prosecutor, handing the letter to Julia, “so that the jury may
understand you, and be able to take down your very words, if
they desire to do so.”

Julia read as follows, in a clear sweet voice: —

“If I ever get back, I shall have a thorough investigation of
this shameful affair, even though I should be obliged to bring it
before the British Parliament. The scoundrels! to intercept a
letter, and take possession of the contents, under such circumstances!
I regard it as no better than highway robbery. Meanwhile,
I beg of you, dear Julia, not to pass another of these notes,
until you see me, or hear from me. There is something wrong
about the whole business, and though I do not believe Uncle
George to be blameworthy, yet —”

“You needn't read that,” said the prosecutor.

“Read the whole, if you please,” rejoined Mr. Fay, with an
appeal to the court, which was answered by a nod of assent, “we
are entitled to the whole now.”

“I have begun this very day to make my arrangement for a
thorough investigation of the business; and if I should be right
in my conjectures, you may depend upon seeing me, face to face,
when I am least expected.”

Another silence followed; and there were signs of a favorable
change in the looks of the bar; and even the judge seemed to
think better of the case; while the prosecutor fidgeted, and worried,
and questioned the witness anew, and over and over again,
till the court was obliged to interfere.

“The witness may step down,” said the judge, — “all those
questions have been answered before; and some of them two or
three times over, Mr. Attorney.”

Here was a damper; but Mr. Fay, though well satisfied with
what was going on, said nothing, but busied himself with his
papers, and neither looked up to the bench with a smile of approbation,
nor about among his brethren, nor even at the outsiders,
for encouragement.

The next witness, a burly, thick-headed fellow, turned out to
be one of the policemen who arrested the Major. He told the
story from beginning to end, without missing a figure, and whenever
he was interrupted, went back and repeated it, almost word
for word, greatly to the amusement of the old practitioners, who
were not a little amazed, when he had got through, and the
prosecutor said to Mr. Fay, — “you can take the witness,” to
hear Mr. Fay answer — “I have only one or two questions to
ask.”

A long pause, while Mr. Fay rummaged among his papers,
evidently to prepare the audience for something out of the usual
way, and set them all agog, as he had lately done, by that long
pause which preceded his only question to Julia.

The judge began to grow impatient. “The counsel for the
defence will proceed; we have lost too much time already,”
said he.

“At the time of the arrest, Mr. Officer, did you make any
search for other notes?”

“Not at the time of the arrest, Sir; but as soon as we could
manage to get into his room, without alarming the ladies.”

“Did you make a thorough search of the premises?”

“We did so.”

“Did you break open his trunks or secretary?”

“No, Sir — he handed us the keys; and we did it all quietly
and handsomely.”

“And what did you find?”

“Nothing, Sir — not so much as a single bank-note, nor anything
that looked like one.”

“Did he stand by you — or interfere — or make any objection;
or try to conceal anything — papers — or letters?”

“No, Sir, — but he helped us, and emptied his pocket-books
and a portfolio or two, — and left us to rummage, as we liked,
and by ourselves — Bob and me.”

“Did you search the person of Major Pendleton?”

“That we did!”

“Thoroughly?”

“Thoroughly — even to his shirt and stockings, and to the
padding and lining of his coat and collar, and the waistband of
his breeches.”

A laugh.

“Silence there! silence in court!” cried the sheriff.

“Shut up!” shouted a constable.

And the eager listeners, leaning forward on tiptoe, with their
mouths wide open, obeyed, and “shut up.”

“And what did you find?”

“Nothing but what was all right and proper for a gentleman
to have.”

Another laugh; and it broke over the upturned faces of the
crowd like a sudden burst of sunshine, and reached the upper
tier of gray-headed dignitaries, and even lighted up the rocky
forehead, and grave countenance of the judge himself.

“No Bank of England notes, good or bad, hey?”

“Not a sixpenny.”

“Mr. Attorney,” said Mr. Fay, “I have no more questions for
this witness; and hereafter, unless something very much out of
the way should happen, I shall forego the cross-examination
altogether; and save the time of the court and jury, by allowing
the government to proceed, without interruption or remark.”

Here, Mr. Bayard reached forward, and, grasping the gentleman
by the wrist, whispered something which Mr. Fay thanked
him for, but begged him to be patient; — “for,” said he, “there
is time enough — no hurry, my dear Sir — and it would be much

better to have the facts you want, and must have, come out from
the other side.”

“But,” persisted the shrewd Quaker, — “if the question should
be overlooked — or forgotten?”

“Give yourself no uneasiness, I pray you,” said the worthy
counsellor, beginning to feel somewhat annoyed at the interruption
— “I shall neither overlook nor forget your suggestion, I
promise you.”

“But, friend Winthrop — excuse me — under the arrangement
just made, will the court allow thee to cross-examine the
witness, even if the government should recall her?”

“Her!” said Mr. Fay, with some little asperity, and a slight
gathering of the forehead, glancing at the prosecutor, who had
been watching and listening, with signs of impatience not to be
misunderstood, — “Her! — I must beg of you to be a little more
cautious, my excellent friend. Your suggestions I value very
much, and I mean to profit by them, when the proper time
arrives.”

“Then,” said the prosecutor, with a look of subdued, though
triumphant anticipation, “if I have rightly understood the counsel
for the prisoner, there is to be no further cross-examination,
and no interruption hereafter, till the government is through?”

Mr. Bayard began to look troubled; but the answer and
look of Mr. Fay instantly reassured him, and he felt sorry and
ashamed, as most people do, after the mischief is done, for having
interrupted their counsel.

“Unless there should be something very much out of the usual
way; or if anything new should come up to change the present
aspect of the case,” added Mr. Fay, as he threw himself back
into the chair, with a look of settled, quiet determination, which
satisfied all who knew him, that he would not be moved again,
till the examination was through, happen what might.

The judge looked somewhat puzzled; and the jury began laying
their heads together, and whispering; and the long-headed
practitioners fell to rubbing their hands, wiping their spectacles,
and nodding to one another, as if they saw breakers ahead, or
mischief brewing.

The prosecutor assented to the qualification, and after a few

compliments to the bench, and many thanks to the jury for their
patience, went on to prove the case, clearly and conclusively,
and step by step, with that logical straightforwardness, and quiet
strength of purpose, which are always needed, though rarely met
with, on such occasions; till Mr. Fay himself was obliged to
compliment him, just above his breath, and to acknowledge that
he had presented the case after a masterly fashion. Though
said in a very low voice, it reached the ears of the jury, as he
intended; and seemed to have a happy effect; for while it appeared
both magnanimous and just, it showed that he had nothing
to fear, and relieved them at once from the trouble of judging
for themselves, and prepared them for a downright, honest,
manly, and truthful defence.

“Have you any more witnesses, Mr. Attorney?” asked the
judge, as the prosecutor told the last of the four-and-twenty to
step down. The prosecutor bowed.

“You stop here, then?” said Mr. Fay — rising deliberately
from his chair as he spoke.

“For the present — yes,” answered the prosecutor; and then,
seeing a look pass between him and Mr. Bayard, he changed
color, and seemed to recollect himself all at once, and added, —
“One moment, if my brother will permit me, — there is one
question which I had on my minutes, but somehow overlooked
while the witness was upon the stand, which I should like to put
now.”

Mr. Fay nodded assent, and reseating himself, and leaning over
the table, whispered to his coadjutor, William Bayard, — “now
for it! — be prepared! — just what we have been waiting for!
I know my good brother, and I knew it would come up at last.
He has been hoping that we would put the question, as new
matter, and then we might be obliged to take it as from our own
witness, and if unfavorable, might not be allowed to contradict,
or explain.”

Mr. Bayard smiled, and shook his head, as if he would like to
argue that question, but said nothing.

“Call your witness, Mr. Attorney,” said the judge.

“Julia Parry! — call Julia Parry, Mr. Officer!” said the prosecutor.

Arthur started.

“Mr. Officer — step into the witness-room, if you please,” continued
the prosecutor, “and say to Miss Parry that she is wanted
for a few minutes, at most.”

Julia soon appeared — paler than ever — but looking well
prepared, and thoroughly self-possessed; and followed by Miss
Wentworth and Miss Webb, who seemed to have no eyes for
anybody but the prisoner, who sat leaning over the table with
his hands covering his face; motionless, and, to all appearance,
wholly indifferent to what was going forward, or worn out with
watching and anxiety, and dead asleep; or perhaps in prayer.
All eyes were upon him, as the prosecutor, turning toward Julia,
said to her, with a startling significance of manner, calculated to
impress the jury, or the by-standers, with a belief that he was
about to settle the question with what was called a clincher, and
either oblige the witness to contradict herself with her own mouth,
or shake her credit —

“Please turn your face toward the jury, and speak so as to be
understood by the court, Miss Parry.”

Julia bowed, and having thrown back her veil and seated
herself, though somewhat unwillingly, in the chair offered to her,
waited the onset.

“I desire to recall your attention, Miss Parry,” said the prosecutor,
to the circumstances attending the return of that Bank
of England note, which had been refused at the St. Nicholas
hotel.”

A pause. Julia began to breathe more freely.

“Your uncle was present, you say, when the waiter handed
the note back to you?”

“He was.”

“Did the waiter give any reason for the refusal?”

“No, Sir.”

“Did you ask for a reason?”

“No, Sir.”

“Were you not a little surprised or mortified?”

“Not in the least.”

“And your uncle George, as you called him, was present and
knew of the note being refused and returned to you — and, so

far as you now recollect and believe, did not interfere in any
way, nor caution you?”

“Such was the fact, and such was my answer, I believe.”

“And you still continue of the same belief?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Very well, Miss Parry — I have no more questions to trouble
you with. Mr. Officer, please lead the witnes to her friends
who are waiting for her at the door, I see.”

“One moment!” said Mr. Fay — “one moment, if you
please — I have a question to put, before the witness leaves the
stand.”

“I thought my learned brother had no further questions to
propose, and if I understood him aright, he waived all further
cross-examination,” said the prosecutor — glancing at the bench,
as he seated himself.

“Conditionally,” said the judge; “but here is new matter.
The counsel for the prisoner will proceed.”

Mr. Fay had turned to answer another suggestion of Mr.
Bayard.

“Go on, brother Fay; put your question,” said the judge.

“Miss Parry,” said Mr. Fay, “I desire to know if there was
anybody else with you, at the time the note was returned, except
your uncle George?”

“Yes, Sir — two or three persons, I now recollect, and perhaps
more.”

“Who were they, if you please? — give me their names.”

“Miss Wentworth —”

“Her Christian name, if you please?”

“Maria, I believe,” said Julia.

“Marie!” cried Miss Wentworth, herself, in a quick, sharp
voice, from away behind the bar.

“Mary!” said William Bayard — all speaking together.

The judge smiled; the officer sung out “Silence in court!”
and Mr. Fay continued.

“And who else?”

“Two young ladies of the family; I do not remember their
names.”

“Of what family, if you please?”

“Of the Wentworth family, as I understood.”

“Fanny Cartwright and Judith Cartwright!” exclaimed Miss
Wentworth, entirely carried away by her sympathy, and forgetful,
as before, of all propriety. The sheriff was about to interfere,
but a look from the judge prevented him.

“And the others?” continued Mr. Fay.

“Miss Sallie Webb, and Mr. Maynard — Arthur Maynard.”

“The gentleman sitting here?” said Mr. Fay.

Julia bowed.

“Do you see any more of the persons you mentioned, in
court?”

“Yes, Sir,” — looking about, — “I see them all here except
the two young ladies.”

Mr. Fay's countenance brightened, — that of Mr. Attorney
fell, in spite of all he could do — he began to have his misgivings
— and there was a great change in the eager, anxious
eyes of the people, and a change for the better too. Without
knowing why, they began to have some hope for the poor prisoner.

“Allow me to ask you now, Miss Parry,” continued Mr. Fay,
— speaking in a very deliberate and impressive manner, and so
clearly, that every syllable was heard to the uttermost bounds of
the large court-room — “allow me to ask if the persons you
have mentioned, or any of them, saw the note returned to you,
or heard what the waiter said?”

“I do not know, Sir — I never spoke of it afterward — but
we were all sitting together, and there was nothing to hinder,
that I know of.”

“Was the conversation carried on between you and the waiter
in a low voice, or apart?”

“No, Sir.”

“Was the note shown by you to anybody there?”

“Not as I remember — yes, I now recollect, that Miss Wentworth
reached over and took it from the table before me, and
showed it to Miss Webb, and said something to her about old
acquaintances.”

“Old acquaintances! and what did you understand by that,
pray? — did she explain herself?”

“No, Sir, — but I understood her to mean that she was glad
to see the face of an English bank-note, as an old acquaintance;
and then she offered to change it for me — saying she had some
gold about her, and I might return it after the flurry was over.”

“What flurry?”

“The banks had all stopped paying specie, as we were told,
and it was difficult to obtain silver, or indeed anything but paper,
and I preferred keeping the Bank of England note.”

“I have done with the witness, Mr. Attorney,” said Mr. Fay.

The prosecutor seemed to be taken all aback for a moment;
but he soon recovered himself, and bowing to the witness, told
her she might step down.

“Any more witnesses for the government?” inquired the
judge.

“One moment, your honor, — I should like to know if my
brother proposes to call any of the persons just mentioned, who
were present at the St. Nicholas?”

“We do not know yet,” said Mr. Fay, — “but you can do so, if
you think proper. They are all here — and I waive all objections;
even though the note, of which we have heard so much,
should not be forthcoming after all.”

“Then we stop here,” said the prosecutor, standing up and
facing the crowd, and trying to appear perfectly satisfied with
the case, and with himself; but it was “no go,” as Mr. Fay
said, soon after, at a dinner-table, where they both met as friends
with the harness off, and complimented one another, like good
fellows, for having played the game of life or death so beautifully.

“Adjourn the court, Mr. Sheriff,” said the judge, rising as he
spoke, and comparing his watch with the clock. “We are a good
hour over the usual time; but may be all the fresher to-morrow.
You have no more witnesses, Mr. Attorney? Stop a moment,
Mr. Sheriff.”

“None, I believe, your honor; nor shall we offer any further
testimony, unless in the way of reply.”

“It is understood, then, that you enter upon the defence to-morrow,
brother Fay, the very first thing?”

Mr. Fay bowed; and the sheriff repeated the order of the

judge to adjourn the court; and the crier bawled “oh yes! oh yes!
oh yes!” &c. &c. &c., and the multitude poured forth like a torrent,
sweeping all before them, through the main passage-way,
down over the steps, and into the Park, where a portion stopped
for a few moments, and threw up their hats, and shouted
“Three cheers for Mr. Fay! hurrah!” and the witnesses were
let go, to breathe freely and sleep soundly — if they could —
like the fragments of a broken-up and overwearied procession of
mourners, trying to find their way back to their hiding-places —
not to the holes of the rocks, for they were honest enough on
both sides, perhaps — but to their closets, and bedchambers, and
secret places of prayer.

As the Major walked away, arm-in-arm with his counsel, and
followed by Mr. Bayard, he saw signs of encouragement and
hope all about him — and he managed to swallow the rising bitterness
in his throat, as many a hand was thrust toward him
now, which, but a little time before was withheld, as if there
were contamination, or leprosy, in the touch; and people who
were strangers at the opening of the court, were now lifting their
hats to him on every side, as he moved away.

And wherefore? What had happened? What had changed
the opinion of these people so suddenly? What new aspect had
been given to the case? Nobody could say — yet the tide was
clearly setting in his favor, and the weathercock of public opinion
was getting uneasy and fluttering for a change, as if a little
afraid of rusting on the spindle, if left there over night.

But, although the great unreasoning multitude knew not, the
ablest members of the bar knew, and the judge knew, and all
spoke of it afterward, that the change of opinion was wholly
owing to the admirable management of Mr. Fay, in withholding
himself to the last, and possessing his soul in patience, and never
allowing himself to be hurried or provoked into a precipitate
move.