University of Virginia Library

28. CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE TRIAL.

As the day of trial drew nigh, the anxiety and activity of
Joseph's friends increased, so that even the quiet atmosphere
wherein he lived was disturbed by it. He could not help
knowing that they were engaged in collecting evidence, but
inasmuch as Philip always said, “You can do nothing!”
he forced himself to wait with such patience as was possible.
Rachel Miller, who had partly taken the hired man, Dennis,
into her confidence, hermetically sealed the house to
the gossip of the neighborhood; but her greatest triumph
was in concealing her alarm, as the days rolled by and the
mystery was not yet unravelled.

There was not much division of opinion in the neighborhood,
however. The growing discord between husband and
wife had not been generally remarked: they were looked upon
as a loving and satisfied couple. Joseph's integrity of character
was acknowledged, and, even had it been doubted, the
people saw no motive for crime. His action in demanding
a legal investigation also operated favorably upon public
opinion.

The quiet and seclusion were beneficial to him. His mind
became calmer and clearer; he was able to survey the past
without passion, and to contemplate his own faults with
a sense of wholesome bitterness rather than pain. The
approaching trial was not a pleasant thing to anticipate, but
the worst which he foresaw was the probability of so much

of his private life being laid bare to the world. Here,
again, his own words returned to condemn him. Had he
not said to Lucy, on the morning of that fatal day, “I am
sick of masks!” Had he not threatened to follow Julia
with his own miserable story? The system of checks
which restrain impulse, and the whirl of currents and counter-currents
which govern a man's movement through life,
began to arrange themselves in his mind. True wisdom, he
now felt, lay in understanding these, and so employing them
as to reach individual liberty of action through law, and not
outside of it. He had been shallow and reckless, even in
his good impulses; it was now time to endure quietly for a
season what their effect had been.

The day previous to the trial Philip had a long consultation
with Mr. Pinkerton. He had been so far successful
that the name and whereabouts of the travelling agent had
been discovered: the latter had been summoned, but he
could not possibly arrive before the next day. Philip had
also seen Mr. Blessing, who entered with great readiness
into his plans, promised his assistance in ascertaining the
truth of Madeline's suspicion, and would give his testimony
as soon as he could return from New York, whither he had
gone to say farewell to Mrs. Clementina Spelter, before her
departure for Paris on a bridal journey. These were the
two principal witnesses for the defence, and it was yet uncertain
what kind of testimony they would be able to give.

“We must finish the other witnesses,” Mr. Pinkerton
said, “(who, in spite of all we can do, will strengthen the
prosecution), by the time you reach here. If Spenham
gives us trouble, as I am inclined to suspect, we cannot
well spare you the first day, but I suppose it cannot be
helped.”

“I will send a telegram to Blessing, in New York, to
make sure,” Philip answered. “Byle and Glanders answer
for their agent, and I can try him with the photograph on
the way out. If that succeeds, Blessing's failure will be of
less consequence.”

“If only they do not reach Linthicum in the mean time!
I will prolong the impanelling of the jury, and use every
other liberty of delay allowed me; yet I have to be cautious.
This is Spenham's first important case, and he is ambitious
to make capital.”

Mr. Spenham was the prosecuting attorney, who had just
been elected to his first term of service in that capacity.
He had some shrewdness as a criminal lawyer, and a great
deal of experience of the subterranean channels of party
politics. This latter acquirement, in fact, was the secret of
his election, for he was known to be coarse, unscrupulous,
and offensive. Mr. Pinkerton was able to foresee his probable
line of attack, and was especially anxious, for that
reason, to introduce testimony which would shorten the trial.

When the hour came, and Joseph found that Philip was
inevitably absent, the strength he had summoned to his
heart seemed to waver for an instant. All his other friends
were present, however: Lucy Henderson and Madeline came
with the Hopetons, and Elwood Withers stood by his side so
boldly and proudly that he soon recovered his composure.

The court-room was crowded, not only by the idlers of
the town, but also many neighbors from the country. They
were grave and silent, and Joseph's appearance in the place
allotted to the accused seemed to impress them painfully.
The preliminaries occupied some time, and it was nearly
noon before the first witness was called.

This was the physician. He stated, in a clear, businesslike

manner, the condition in which he found Julia, his
discovery of the poison, and the unusual character of its
operation, adding his opinion that the latter was owing to a
long-continued nervous tension, culminating in hysterical
excitement. Mr. Spenham questioned him very closely as
to Joseph's demeanor, and his expressions before and after
the death. The point of attack which he selected was
Julia's exclamation: “Joseph, I will try to be different, but
I must live for that!”

“These words,” he said, “indicate a previous threat on
the part of the accused. His helpless victim—”

Mr. Pinkerton protested against the epithet. But his
antagonist found numberless ways of seeming to take Joseph's
guilt for granted, and thus gradually to mould the
pliant minds of a not very intelligent jury. The physician
was subjected to a rigid cross-examination, in the course of
which he was led to state that he, himself, had first advised
that the fact of the poisoning should not be mentioned until
after the funeral. The onus of the secrecy was thus removed
from Joseph, and this was a point gained.

The next witness was the servant-woman, who had been
present in the hall when Julia fell upon the landing of the
staircase. She had heard the words, “Go away! you have
killed me!” spoken in a shrill, excited voice. She had already
guessed that something was wrong between the two.
Mr. Asten came home looking quite wild and strange; he
didn't seem to speak in his usual voice; he walked about in
a restless way, and then went into the garden. Miss Lucy
followed him, and then Mrs. Asten; but in a little while she
came back, with her dress torn and her arms scratched; she,
the witness, noticed this as Mrs. Asten passed through the
hall, tottering as she went and with her fists shut tight.

Then Mr. Asten went up stairs to her bedroom; heard them
speaking, but not the words; said to Sally, who was in the
kitchen, “It's a real tiff and no mistake,” and Sally remarked,
“They're not used to each other yet, as they will
be in a year or two.”

The witness was with difficulty kept to a direct narrative.
She had told the tale so often that every particular had its
fixed phrases of description, and all the questioning on both
sides called forth only repetitions. Joseph listened with a
calm, patient air; nothing had yet occurred for which he
was not prepared. The spectators, however, began to be
deeply interested, and a sharp observer might have noticed
that they were already taking sides.

Mr. Pinkerton soon detected that, although the woman's
statements told against Joseph, she possessed no friendly
feeling for Julia. He endeavored to make the most of this;
but it was not much.

When Lucy Henderson's name was called, there was a
stir of curiosity in the audience. They knew that the conference
in the garden, from which Julia had returned in
such an excited condition, must now be described. Mr.
Spenham pricked up his red ears, ran his hand through his
stubby hair, and prepared himself for battle; while Mr.
Pinkerton, already in possession of all the facts, felt concerned
only regarding the manner in which Lucy might give
them. This was a case where so much depended on the impression
produced by the individual!

By the time Lucy was sworn she appeared to be entirely composed;
her face was slightly pale, but calm, and her voice
steady. Mrs. Hopeton and Madeline Held sat near her, and
Elwood Withers, leaning against a high railing, was nearly
opposite.

There was profound silence as she began, and the interest
increased as she approached the time of Joseph's return.
She described his appearance, repeated the words she had
heard, reproduced the scene in her own chamber, and so
came, step by step, to the interview in the garden. The
trying nature of her task now became evident. She spoke
slowly, and with longer pauses; but whichever way she
turned in her thought, the inexorable necessity of the whole
truth stared her in the face.

“Must I repeat everything?” she asked. “I am not
sure of recollecting the words precisely as they were
spoken.”

“You can certainly give the substance,” said Mr. Spenham.
“And be careful that you omit nothing: you are on
your oath, and you ought to know what that means.”

His words were loud and harsh. Lucy looked at the impassive
face of the judge, at Elwood's earnest features, at
the attentive jurymen, and went on.

When she came to Joseph's expression of the love that
might have been possible, she gave also his words: “Had
there been, I should have darkened the life of a friend.”

“Ha!” exclaimed Mr. Spenham, “we are coming upon
the motive of the murder.”

Again Mr. Pinkerton protested, and was sustained by the
court.

“Tell the jury,” said Mr. Spenham, “whether there had
been any interchange of such expressions between you and
the accused previous to his marriage!”

This question was objected to, but the objection was
overruled.

“None whatever!” was the answer.

Julia's sudden appearance, the accusation she made, and

the manner in which Joseph met it, seemed to turn the
current of sympathy the other way. Lucy's recollection of
this scene was very clear and complete: had she wished it,
she could not have forgotten a word or a look. In spite of
Mr. Spenham's angry objections, she was allowed to go on
and relate the conversation between Joseph and herself
after Julia's return to the house. Mr. Pinkerton made the
best use of this portion of the evidence, and it seemed that
his side was strengthened, in spite of all unfavorable appearances.

“This is not all!” exclaimed the prosecuting attorney.
“A married man does not make a declaration of love—”

“Of a past possible love,” Mr. Pinkerton interrupted.

“A very fine hair-splitting indeed! A `possible' love
and a `possible' return, followed by a `possible' murder
and a `possible' remarriage! Our duty is to remove possibilities
and establish facts. The question is, Was there no
previous affection between the witness and the accused?
This is necessary to prove a motive. I ask, then, the
woman—I beg pardon, the lady—what were her sentiments
towards the husband of the poisoned before his marriage, at
the time of the conversation in the garden, and now?”

Lucy started, and could not answer. Mr. Pinkerton
came to her aid. He protested strongly against such a
question, though he felt that there was equal danger in
answering it or leaving it unanswered. A portion of the
spectators, sympathizing with Lucy, felt indignant at Mr.
Spenham's demand; another portion, hungry for the most
private and intimate knowledge of all the parties concerned,
eagerly hoped that it would be acceded to.

Lucy half turned, so that she caught a glimpse of Joseph.
He was calm, but his eyes expressed a sympathetic trouble.

Then she felt her gaze drawn to Elwood, who had become a
shade paler, and who met her eyes with a deep, inscrutable
expression. Was he thinking of his recent words to her,—
“If need comes to publish what I said to you, don't keep
back a single word!” She felt sure of it, for all that he
said was in her mind. Her decision was made: for truth's
sake, and under the eye of God, she would speak. Having
so resolved, she shut her mind to all else, for she needed
the greatest strength of either woman or man.

The judge had decided that she was not obliged to answer
the question. There was a murmur, here and there, among
the spectators.

“Then I will use my freedom of choice,” said Lucy, in a
firm voice, “and answer it.”

She kept her eyes on Elwood as she spoke, and compelled
him to face her. She seemed to forget judge, jury,
and the curious public, and to speak only to his ear.

“I am here to tell the whole truth, God helping me,”
she said. “I do not know how what I am required to say
can touch the question of Joseph Asten's guilt or innocence;
but I cannot pause to consider that. It is not easy for a
woman to lay bare her secret heart to the world; I would
like to think that every man who hears me has a wife, a
sister, or a beloved girl of his choice, and that he will try to
understand my heart through his knowledge of hers. I did
cherish a tenderness which might have been love—I cannot
tell—for Joseph Asten before his betrothal. I admit that
his marriage was a grief to me at the time, for, while I had
not suffered myself to feel any hope, I could not keep the
feeling of disappointment out of my heart. It was both my
blame and shame: I wrestled with it, and with God's help I
overcame it.”

There was a simple pathos in Lucy's voice, which pierced
directly to the hearts of her hearers. She stood before them
as pure as Godiva in her helpful nakedness. She saw on
Elwood's cheek the blush which did not visit hers, and the
sparkle of an unconscious tear. Joseph had hidden his face
in his hands for a moment, but now looked up with a sadness
which no man there could misinterpret.

Lucy had paused, as if waiting to be questioned, but the
effect of her words had been so powerful and unexpected
that Mr. Spenham was not quite ready. She went on:—

“When I say that I overcame it, I think I have answered
everything. I went to him in the garden against my own
wish, because his wife begged me with tears and sobs to intercede
for her: I could not guess that he had ever thought
of me otherwise than as a friend. I attributed his expressions
to his disappointment in marriage, and pardoned him
when he asked me to forget them—”

“O, no doubt!” Mr. Spenham interrupted, looking at the
jury; “after all we have heard, they could not have been
very disagreeable!”

Elwood made a rapid step forward; then, recollecting
himself, resumed his position against the railing. Very few
persons noticed the movement.

“They were very unwelcome,” Lucy replied: “under any
other circumstances, it would not have been easy to forgive
them.”

“And this former—`tenderness,' I think you called it,”
Mr. Spenham persisted, “—do you mean to say that you
feel nothing of it at present?”

There was a murmur of indignation all over the room.
If there is anything utterly incomprehensible to a vulgar
nature, it is the natural delicacy of feeling towards women,

which is rarely wanting even to the roughest and most ignorant
men. The prosecution had damaged itself, and now
the popular sympathy was wholly and strongly with Lucy.

“I have already answered that question,” she said. “For
the holy sake of truth, and of my own free-will, I have
opened my heart. I did it, believing that a woman's first
affection is pure, and would be respected; I did it, hoping
that it might serve the cause of an innocent man; but now,
since it has brought upon me doubt and insult, I shall avail
myself of the liberty granted to me by the judge, and speak
no word more!”

The spectators broke into applause, which the judge did
not immediately check. Lucy's strength suddenly left her;
she dropped into her seat and burst into tears.

“I have no further question to ask the witness,” said
Mr. Pinkerton.

Mr. Spenham inwardly cursed himself for his blunder,—
not for his vulgarity, for of that he was sublimely unconscious,—and
was only too ready to be relieved from Lucy's
presence.

She rose to leave the court, Mrs. Hopeton accompanying
her; but Elwood Withers was already at her side, and she
leaned upon his arm as they passed through the crowd. The
people fell back to make a way, and not a few whispered
some honest word of encouragement. Elwood breathed
heavily, and the veins on his forehead were swollen.

Not a word was spoken until they reached the hotel.
Then Lucy, taking Elwood's hand, said: “Thank you, true,
dear friend! I can say no more now. Go back, for Joseph's
sake, and when the day is over come here and tell me, if
you can, that I have not injured him in trying to help him.”

When Elwood returned to the court-room, Rachel Miller

was on the witness stand. Her testimony confirmed the
interpretation of Julia's character which had been suggested
by Lucy Henderson's. The sweet, amiable, suffering wife
began to recede into the background, and the cold, false,
selfish wife to take her place.

All Mr. Spenham's cross-examination failed to give the
prosecution any support until he asked the question:—

“Have you discovered nothing whatever, since your return
to the house, which will throw any light upon Mrs.
Asten's death?”

Mr. Pinkerton, Elwood, and Madeline all felt that the
critical moment had come. Philip's absence threatened to
be a serious misfortune.

“Yes,” Rachel Miller answered.

“Ah!” exclaimed the prosecuting attorney, rubbing his
hair; “what was it?”

“The paper in which the arsenic was put up.”

“Will you produce that paper?” he eagerly asked.

“I cannot now,” said Rachel; “I gave it to Mr. Philip
Held, so that he might find out something more.”

Joseph listened with a keen, undisguised interest. After
the first feeling of surprise that such an important event
had been kept from his knowledge, his confidence in Philip's
judgment reassured him.

“Has Mr. Philip Held destroyed that paper?” Mr. Spenham
asked.

“He retains it, and will produce it before this court to-morrow,”
Mr. Pinkerton replied.

“Was there any mark, or label, upon it, which indicated
the place where the poison had been procured?”

“Yes,” said Rachel Miller.

“State what it was.”

“Ziba Linthicum's drug-store, No. 77 Main Street, Magnolia,”
she replied, as if the label were before her eyes.

“Let Ziba Linthicum be summoned at once!” Mr. Spenham
cried.

Mr. Pinkerton, however, arose and stated that the apothecary's
testimony required that of another person who was
present when the poison was purchased. This other person
had been absent in a distant part of the country, but had
been summoned, and would arrive, in company with Mr.
Philip Held, on the following morning. He begged that
Mr. Linthicum's evidence might be postponed until then,
when he believed that the mystery attending the poisoning
would be wholly explained.

Mr. Spenham violently objected, but he again made the
mistake of speaking for nearly half an hour on the subject,
—an indiscretion into which he was led by his confirmed
political habits. By the time the question was decided, and
in favor of the defence, the afternoon was well advanced,
and the court adjourned until the next day.