Her face, as she turned it upward, wore so strange a look, Mr. Ferris involuntarily left his position and crossed to her side. She was still murmuring to herself in seeming unconsciousness of his presence. “Stars!” she was repeating; “and above them God!” And the long shudders shook her frame again, and she dropped her head and seemed about to fall into her old abstraction when her eye encountered that of the District Attorney, and she hurriedly aroused herself.
“Pardon me,” she exclaimed, with an ill-concealed irony, particularly impressive after her tone of the moment before, “have you anything further to exact of me?”
“No,” he made haste to reply; “only before I go I would entreat you to be calm—”
“And say the word I have to say tomorrow without a balk and without an unnecessary display of feeling,” she coldly interpolated. “Thanks, Mr. Ferris, I understand you. But you need fear nothing from me. There will be no scene—at least on my part—when I rise before the court to give my testimony tomorrow. Since my hand must strike the fatal blow, it shall strike—firmly!” and her clenched fist fell heavily on her own breast, as if the blow she meditated must first strike there.
The District Attorney, more moved than he had deemed it possible for him to be, made her a low bow and withdrew slowly to the door.
“I leave you, then, till tomorrow,” he said.
“Till tomorrow.”
Long after he had passed out, the deep meaning which informed those two words haunted his memory and disturbed his heart. Till tomorrow! Alas, poor girl! and after tomorrow, what then?
XXXIV
What Was Hid Behind Imogene’s Veil
Mark now, how a plain tale shall put you down.
Henry IV
The few minutes that elapsed before the formal opening of court the next morning were marked by great cheerfulness. The crisp frosty air had put everybody in a good-humor. Even the prisoner looked less sombre than before, and for the first time since the beginning of his trial, deigned to turn his eyes toward the bench where Imogene sat, with a look that, while it was not exactly kind, had certainly less disdain in it than before he saw his way to a possible acquittal on the theory advanced by his counsel.
But this look, though his first, did not prove to be his last. Something in the attitude of the woman he gazed at—or was it the mystery of the heavy black veil that enveloped her features?—woke a strange doubt in his mind. Beckoning to Mr. Orcutt, he communicated with him in a low tone.
“Can it be possible,” asked he, “that anything new could have transpired since last night to give encouragement to the prosecution?”
The lawyer, startled, glanced hastily about him and shook his head.
“No,” he cried; “impossible! What could have transpired?”
“Look at Mr. Ferris,” whispered the prisoner, “and then at the witness who wears a veil.”
With an unaccountable feeling of reluctance, Mr. Orcutt hastily complied. His first glance at the District Attorney made him thoughtful. He recognized the look which his opponent wore; he had seen it many a time before this, and knew what it indicated. As for Imogene, who could tell what went on in that determined breast? The close black veil revealed nothing. Mr. Orcutt impatiently turned back to his client.
“I think you alarm yourself unnecessarily,” he whispered. “Ferris means to fight, but what of that? He wouldn’t be fit for his position if he didn’t struggle to the last gasp even for a failing cause.”
Yet in saying this his lip took its sternest line, and from the glitter of his eye and the close contraction of his brow it looked as if he were polishing his own weapons for the conflict he thus unexpectedly saw before him.
Meantime, across the courtroom, another whispered conference was going on.
“Hickory, where have you been ever since last night? I have not been able to find you anywhere.”
“I was on duty; I had a bird to look after.”
“A bird?”
“Yes, a wild bird; one who is none too fond of its cage; a desperate one who might find means to force aside its bars and fly away.”
“What do you mean, Hickory? What nonsense is this?”
“Look at Miss Dare and perhaps you will understand.”
“Miss Dare?”
“Yes.”
Horace’s eyes opened in secret alarm.
“Do you mean—”
“I mean that I spent the whole night in tramping up and down in front of her window. And a dismal task it was too. Her lamp burned till daylight.”
Here the court was called to order and Byrd had only opportunity to ask:
“Why does she wear a veil?”
To which the other whisperingly retorted:
“Why did she spend the whole night in packing up her worldly goods and writing a letter to the Congregational minister to be sent after the adjournment of court today?”
“Did she do that?”
“She did.”
“Hickory, don’t you know—haven’t you been told what she is expected to say or do here today?”
“No.”
“You only guess?”
“No, I don’t guess.”
“You fear, then?”
“Fear! Well, that’s a big word to a fellow like me. I don’t know as I fear anything; I’m curious, that is all.”
Mr. Byrd drew back, looked over at Imogene, and involuntarily shook his head. What was in the mind of this mysterious woman? What direful purpose or shadow of doom lay behind the veil that separated her from the curiosity and perhaps the sympathy of the surrounding crowd? It was in vain to question; he could only wait in secret anxiety for the revelations which the next few minutes might bring.
The defence having rested the night before, the first action of the Judge on the opening of the court was to demand whether the prosecution had any rebuttal testimony to offer.
Mr. Ferris instantly rose.
“Miss Dare, will you retake the stand,” said he.
Immediately Mr. Orcutt, who up to the last moment had felt his case as secure as if it had indeed been founded on a rock, bounded to his feet, white as the witness herself.
“I object!” he cried. “The witness
