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, business-like 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 bed-room; 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.
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