And she handed them back with such haste that the ribbon which bound them remained in her fingers, where consciously or unconsciously she held it clutched all through the remaining time of her examination.
“Now,” said the District Attorney, “I propose to read two of these letters. Does my friend wish to look at them before I offer them in evidence?” holding them out to Mr. Orcutt.
Every eye in the courtroom was fixed upon the latter’s face, as the letters addressed to his rival by the woman he wished to make his wife, were tendered in this public manner to his inspection. Even the iron face of Mansell relaxed into an expression of commiseration as he turned and surveyed the man who, in despite of the anomalous position they held toward each other, was thus engaged in battling for his life before the eyes of the whole world. At that instant there was not a spectator who did not feel that Tremont Orcutt was the hero of the moment.
He slowly turned to the prisoner:
“Have you any objection to these letters being read?”
“No,” returned the other, in a low tone.
Mr. Orcutt turned firmly to the District Attorney:
“You may read them if you think proper,” said he.
Mr. Ferris bowed; the letters were marked as exhibits by the stenographic reporter who was taking the minutes of testimony, and handed back to Ferris, who proceeded to read the following in a clear voice to the jury:
Sibley, NY .
“Dear Friend—You show signs of impatience, and ask for a word to help you through this period of uncertainty and unrest. What can I say more than I have said? That I believe in you and in your invention, and proudly wait for the hour when you will come to claim me with the fruit of your labors in your hand. I am impatient myself, but I have more trust than you. Someone will see the value of your work before long, or else your aunt will interest herself in your success, and lend you that practical assistance which you need to start you in the way of fortune and fame. I cannot think you are going to fail. I will not allow myself to look forward to anything less than success for you and happiness for myself. For the one involves the other, as you must know by this time, or else believe me to be the most heartless of coquettes.
“Wishing to see you, but of the opinion that further meetings between us would be unwise till our future looks more settled, I remain, hopefully yours,
“The other letter I propose to read,” continued Mr. Ferris, “is dated September 23rd, three days before the widow’s death.
“Dear Craik—Since you insist upon seeing me, and say that you have reasons of your own for not visiting me openly, I will consent to meet you at the trysting spot you mention, though all such underhand dealings are as foreign to my nature as I believe them to be to yours.
“Trusting that fortune will so favor us as to make it unnecessary for us to meet in this way more than once, I wait in anxiety for your coming.
These letters, unfolding relations that, up to this time, had been barely surmised by the persons congregated before her, created a great impression. To those especially who knew her and believed her to be engaged to Mr. Orcutt the surprise was well-nigh thrilling. The witness seemed to feel this, and bestowed a short, quick glance upon the lawyer, that may have partially recompensed him for the unpleasantness of the general curiosity.
The Prosecuting Attorney went on without pause:
“Miss Dare,” said he, “did you meet the prisoner as you promised?”
“I did.”
“Will you tell me when and where?”
“On the afternoon of Monday, September 27th, in the glade back of Mrs. Clemmens’ house.”
“Miss Dare, we fully realize the pain it must cost you to refer to these matters, but I must request you to tell us what passed between you at this interview?”
“If you will ask me questions, sir, I will answer them with the truth the subject demands.”
The sorrowful dignity with which this was said, called forth a bow from the Prosecuting Attorney.
“Very well,” he rejoined, “did the prisoner have anything to say about his prospects?”
“He did.”
“How did he speak of them?”
“Despondingly.”
“And what reason did he give for this?”
“He said he had failed to interest any capitalist in his invention.”
“Any other reason?”
“Yes.”
“What was that?”
“That he had just come from his aunt whom he had tried to persuade to advance him a sum of money to carry out his wishes, but that she had refused.”
“He told you that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did he also tell you what path he had taken to his aunt’s house?”
“No, sir.”
“Was there anything said by him to show he did not take the secret path through the woods and across the bog to her back door?”
“No, sir.”
“Or that he did not return in the same way?”
“No, sir.”
“Miss Dare, did the prisoner express to you at this time irritation as well as regret at the result of his efforts to elicit money from his aunt?”
“Yes,” was the evidently forced reply.
“Can you remember any words that he used which would tend to show the condition of his mind?”
“I have no memory for words,” she began, but flushed as she met the eye of the Judge, and perhaps remembered her oath. “I do recollect, however, one expression he used. He said: ‘My life is worth nothing to me without success. If only to win you, I must put this matter through; and I will do it yet.’ ”
She repeated this quietly, giving it no emphasis and scarcely any inflection, as if she hoped by her mechanical way of uttering
