For the Defence. A realistic ... story, etc

Front matter

FOR THE DEFENCE. SOLD EVERYWHERE. The words ' ' Cherry B lossom ' ' are registered as JOHN G-OSNELL & GO '* Trade Mark. TESTIMONIAL of DE. ALEXANDER BOWIE, M.D, O.M., 1..E.0.P, &c Physician and Lecturer to St. John's Hospital for Diseases of Vie Skin. 2'.i. Harley Street, Cavendish Street, London, W. Sibs, — I have personally tested your " Cherry Blossom Soap," and in my opinion it Ls fc-ii very best Soap before the public for Toilet use. It leaves the ekiu fragrant and of velv<£ softness, and is a most elegant preparation. — Tours truly, Messrs. John Gosnell & Co., London, (Signed) ALEXANDER BOWIi^ PRICE ONE SHILLING. PRIZE NOVEL THE ONLY WITNESS: WHAT DID SHE SEE? BY E. J. GOODMAN. Every Purchaser will have a Chance of Winning FIRST PRIZE ,£30 SECOND PRIZE ,£15 THIRD PRIZE £5 Offered by the Publishers for the best solution of the mystery of the story.

The Daily Telegraph says, "The story is keenly exciting throughout, and the author has used much literary skill and jp-aphic power in weaving the intricacies of the problem to be solved." TRISCHLER & CO., LONDON. NEW BOOK JUST ISSUED. ALWAYS IN THE WAY OB, Mr. RUMMINS WITH ROD, HOUNDS, AND RIFLE. BT T J. JEANS, AUTHOR OF " The Tommiebeg Shootings.'" "WITH NIKE FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY FINCH MASON. ONE VOLUME. Cloth extra. Three Shillings and Sixpence, TR1SCHLER & Co., 18, New Bridge Street CONTENTS. Chapter Page I. Mrs. Tregartin gives her Evidence 9 II. The Friends 24 III. Mrs. Tregartin continues her Evidence ... 30 IV. What occurred on the 25th op April ... 41 V. Cross-Examination of Mrs. Tregartin 50 VI. The Two Sisters Tree 57 VII. The Close of the Prosecution 72 VIII. The Interview 80 IX.

" Can you forgive me ? " 88 X. Silly Thomas distinguishes Himself 95 XI. Mrs. Tregartin makes a Discovery 104 XII. Startling Revelations 113 XIII. Mr. Justice Richbell 120 XIV. Sandy, the Judge's own Man, stops the way 129 XV. The Sins of the Father 137 XVI. Mr. Justice Richbell examining the Two Letters 148 XVII. The Man Maxwell 153 XVIII. The Third Day of the Trial 169 XIX. Maxwell mazes open Confession 185 XX. The End of the Trial 194 XXI. Mr. Justice Richbell bids Farewell to Bench and Bar 201 XXII. Good-Bye to England 206 XXIII. From the New World to the Old InTiao^^EeKg Think of it !I As a FLESH PRODUCER there can be no question but ihat -A>T— Pure Cod Liver Oil -AND— Hypophosphites Of Lime and Soda is without a rival. Many have gained a pound a day by the, use of it. It cures CONSUMPTION, SCROFULA, BRONCHITIS, COUGHS AND COLDS, AND ALL FORMS OF WASTING DISEASES.

Chapter I. Mrs

TREGARTIN GIVES HER EVIDENCE. " Call Emily Tregartin." The witness, a woman with a pleasant face, of about forty-five years of age, decently dressed, stepped into the box, and was sworn. " Your name is Emily Tregartin ? ' " Yes, sir, it is." " You are a married woman ? " " I am, sir. My husband is a gardener." " Where do you reside ? " " At No. 4, Love Lane." " Have you any family ? " " One little boy, sir. Jimmy." " How far is your cottage from Brentingham Forest ?" " About three-quarters of a mile." " How far from Rocky Reaches ? " " About a mile, perhaps." " In the same direction as the forest ? " " No, sir ; the other way." " Is Brentingham Forest very woody ? " B " Very thick with trees, sir. " A lonely spot ? " " Yes, sir, except for picnics." " Are many picnics held there ? " " Not many, sir." " What kind of place is Rocky Reaches ?

" Nothing but rocks and bits of sea. We catch crabs there." " Is the water in parts deep and dangerous ? " " In a good many parts. It ain't safe to bathe any where out of your depth." " Do you remember the night of the 25th May ? " The witness did not reply immediately, and the question was repeated, with the remark, " You are here in the interests of truth, Mrs. Tregartin. Speak frankly." Witness : " I remember the night well, sir. " Was it a stormy night ? " " Very stormy. My husband said it was blowing great guns." "In such weather, according to your experience, would Rocky Reaches be especially dangerous ? " " Yes, sir, it would — all the water in a passion like — boiling over the rocks, and spirting up dreadful." " You know the prisoner ? " " Yes, sir." (It was observed that at this first direct reference to the unfortunate young creature in the dock, the witness gazed at her with tender interest and sympathy.)

" How long have you been acquainted with her ? " " Since the first week in December." " Can you fix the precise date ? " " No, sir, it was on a Tuesday." " It was, then, on the Tuesday in the first week in December that you first saw her ? " " Yes, sir." " Having never seen her before ? " " Never, sir. " And having had no previous knowledge of her ? " No, sir." " Tell the court what happened on this first visit. " Do you mean what passed between us, sir ? " " Yes." "She came to our cottage when there was nobody but me at home, and asked if I had a bedroom to let. We had a room empty that my husband's mother used to occupy ; she was dead a fortnight when the young lady came -" " Meaning the prisoner ? " " Yes, sir. And the funeral had put us to a bit of expense, besides black clothes for me and my husband and Jimmy.

So when the young lady asked me if I had a room to let I thought of that one, and that it would be a good opportunity to turn an honest penny. But I didn't like to let it without my husband's consent, and I told the young lady so. She asked where my husband was, and I said at work, and that he would be home about six. Then she asked whether she might stop till he came home, and I said yes." " At what hour of the day did this take place ? " " About three in the afternoon." " Go on." " She sat down quite quiet by the window, and looked out, without speaking a word. There was snow in the air, and presently it began to fall — not very thick at first, but I soon saw we were in for a storm. B All this while the young lady kept by the window, hardly moving ; I couldn't see her face, though I knew it was sweet and pretty.

I caught a glimpse of it when she first came to the cottage door." " Did she wear a veil ? " " Yes, sir ; and when she asked about the room she didn't lift it, but the wind caught it once, and it was then I saw her face. At a little past four Jimmy came home from school, and the young lady started up, thinking it might be my husband ; but seeing my little boy she sat down again by the window. Tea was all ready for him, and we were having it together when I thought it was cruel of me to let the young lady sit there all alone like, and as if she hadn't a friend in the world. I'm sure she looked like it, and I'd been wondering a good deal about her. So I went to her and asked her if she wouldn't take a cup of tea. She didn't answer me, and didn't as much as look up, and I laid my hand on her shoulder and said, ' Come, my dear lady, you must be faint ; a cup of hot tea will do you no harm, and you're heartily welcome.' And still she didn't answer me ; but I heard something like a sob, and bending down I saw that she was crying.

I made no more ado, but I took her to the bedroom, and took off her hat and veil, and bathed her face, and said, ' Come along now and make yourself comfortable.' She thanked me in a low voice that went straight to my heart, it was so like a little child speaking. I per suaded her to drink two cups of tea, but she couldn't eat ; she said she wasn't hungry, but I saw that she couldn't get the bread and butter down, and that made me pity her more and more. The snow was falling very thick by this time, and after tea she asked me whether she might go back to the window, and I said, yes, of course she might ; and she went and sat there till it got quite dark, never speaking a word all the time. I know sorrow when I see it, sir, and I saw it then ; and I know goodness when I see it, and I was sure she was good.

It was clear enough to me that she was in some trouble, and I wished I could help her, but I didn't ask her any questions. I let her have her way ; it's always best. At seven o'clock my husband came home, and then the young lady rose and looked at him, entreating him like. I didn't give him time to make any remarks. ' I want to speak to you,' I said, and I took him and Jimmy out of the room, and told him all I knew. He didn't say anything at first, but turned the thing over in his mind — a way he's got when there's anything particular to be decided — and then he said he didn't care to have a stranger with us, and that, though the funeral and black clothes had cost us a bit of money, we had paid for them and didn't owe anybody a farthing. That was true, and I couldn't dispute it. My husband's a good chap, but he's got a will of his own, and if you want him to stick to any thing all you've got to do is to contradict him.

I took care not to, though my heart was bleeding for the poor young lady. Out he went to her, and told her he was sorry, but we didn't have a room to spare. She listened quite humbly, and said, without a murmur, ' Thank you ; then I must go away.' He had brought her hat and mantle from the bedroom, and she put them on. Then she took out her purse, and put a shilling on the table. ' What's that for ? ' asked my man. ' For the tea,' answered the young lady, ' your good wife was kind enough to give me.' ' Lord ! ' I said, with a lump in my throat, ' she didn't take a bite.' ' You're welcome to a cup of tea,' said my husband, putting the shilling back in her hand ; ' we can't take money for that.' She went to the door and opened it, and the snow came driving in. She fell back just as if she'd received a blow, but she straightened herself directly, and saying very sweetly, ' Good-night,' was going out when my husband caught her by the arm. ' Are you going to your friends ? ' he asked. ' I haven't any,' she answered. ' Where are you off to, then ? ' he asked. ' I don't know,' she answered.

I couldn't speak; my tears were choking me. ' Do you mean to tell me you've no place to go to ? ' asked my husband. ' None,' she said. ' Nor any place to sleep in ? ' ' None. It's the first time I've been in this part of the country.' My man stared at this, as well he might. ' Where do you come from ? ' he asked. ' A long, long way from here,' she answered, oh, so wearily ! ' Fifty miles ? ' ' More than that.' ' A hundred ? ' ' Yes, I think so. Please,' she said, raising her face to him, but I'm sure she couldn't see his for the tears in her eyes, ' don't ask me any more questions. I'm tired and weak; let me go.' ' No, I'm hanged if you shall,' said my man. ' You can stop here to-night, and we'll talk about it to-morrow. I wouldn't turn a cat out on such a night.' Upon that the young lady broke down, and began to cry, so that my husband went away, saying, ' Mother, look after the child,' and I took her in my arms, and did what I could to comfort her.

She was so young, sir, and seemed so lonely." The Judge : " Take a little time, Mrs. Tregartin. It is nothing to your discredit that you should be agitated." After a pause of a few minutes, during which all eyes but those of the Judge and the counsel for the prosecution and the defence were fixed upon the prisoner — who, from the moment she was brought into the court, had not raised her head — the examination of the witness was resumed : •' The prisoner remained with you that night ? " " Yes, sir ; and the next morning she was so ill that I saw it would be dangerous for her to get up. So I made her keep her bed, and asked her if I should send for a doctor. She was so frightened at the idea of see ing a stranger that I did not insist upon it, but nursed her myself, and in a few days she was well enough to get about the house."

" And then ? " " My husband consented to let her remain with us, and she agreed to pay twelve shillings a week for board and lodging." " She lived with you till she was arrested ? " " Yes, sir." " Sleeping in your cottage every night ? '" " Every night, with one exception." " We will come to that in due time. Did she seem to have plenty of money ? " " I don't know about that, sir. She paid regularly, always two weeks in advance." " Now, for the first month she was with you, did you have any suspicion of her condition ? " " I may have had, but I didn't say anything to her or anybody. After all, I thought, I might be mistaken. We got very fond of her, sir." -" I will not press the question. How did she occupy her time during that month ? " " Sometimes she read, sometimes she wrote.'" " Letters ?

" " Yes, sir." " To whom ? " " I don't know, sir, " Who posted those letters ? " " The young lady herself." " Did she never give you any to post for her ? '" " Never." " Do you know to whom they were addressed ? " " No, sir." " Then you cannot say whether they were addressed to more than one person ? " " No, sir." " When she wrote her letters were you at any time present ? " " Never." " She wrote them in her own room ? " " Yes, sir." " Taking care that she was alone ? " " It does seem like it, sir." " You understand that we are now confining ourselves to the first month of her living with you ? " " Yes, sir." " We will get beyond that time presents. During the period of which we are speaking did any letters for the prisoner arrive at your house ? " " None, sir." " Not one ? " " Not one." " Did she receive any addressed to her elsewhere — at the village post-office, for instance ?

" " I don't know for certain. I oughtn't to say any thing I'm not sure of." " Quite right. I may take it, then, that you have no positive knowledge of her receiving any letters ad dressed to her elsewhere ? " " I don't know anything about it for certain." " All through that month did she do nothing but read and write letters ? " " Oh, yes, sir ; she did some work." " Needlework ? " " Yes, sir." " For herself? " " And for me as well. She would come down and say, 'Mrs. Tregartin, give me something to do, please.' And if there was any mending to do she'd insist upon doing it for me. She made me some aprons, and kept Jimmy's clothes in nice order, and my husband's, too. Sometimes she'd ask me to let her help me in the cook ing, and I couldn't refuse her, though she wasn't much of a cook." " Did it appear to you that she was a person accus tomed to household work ?

" " Not at all, sir. She is a lady born and bred, and educated as such. We've got four pictures she painted for us hanging in the room. They're beautiful, and my husband thinks all the world of them." " Where did she obtain the painting materials ? " " She ordered them in the village, and they sent for them for her." " What are the subjects of the paintings ? " " There are two pictures of Brentingham Forest, and two of Rocky Reaches. I never saw anything like them. You'd think you were in the places them selves." " Did she do anything else for you ? '" " She taught Jimmy of an evening, and he got along better with her than he did at school." "Where did she keep her needlework and other things belonging to her ? " " In a box she bought in the village. She brought nothing with her when she came to us, and she had to buy everything she wanted."

" She kept this box locked ? " " Yes, sir." " When did she tell you her name was Mary Lee ? " " On the day she agreed to pay twelve shillings a week for her board and lodging." " Did you give her a receipt for the money ? " " Yes, sir." " Did she inform you of her own accord that her name was Mary Lee ? " " It came out in this way, sir. When I wrote out the first receipt I wanted to put her name in, and I asked what it was." " Did she reply immediately, or did she seem to hesitate before she answered ? " " Well, sir, she seemed to hesitate a little." " At the time did you think this rather strange ? " I didn't think much about it, sir." " Did any person call to see her at your house ? Keep within the limit of the month." " No one, sir, all that time." " She was an entire stranger in the village, and quite alone?"

" Yes, sir. " Did it not strike you as singular that a lady so well bred should voluntarily choose to hve in a part of the country where she was so entirely friendless and un known ? " " It did at times, sir, and I don't mind saying I was curious about her. But I said to myself she has gone through some great trouble, and I won't make it worse by being inquisitive ; perhaps one day she will open her heart to me. Nobody can call me a busy-body, sir." " All the better for you. You saw she had gone through some great trouble ? " " That was what •! thought." " Was she at any time light-hearted or cheerful ? v " Neither one nor t'other, sir. She was always very, very quiet, and I scarcely ever saw her smile." " The paintings she made for you of views in Brentingham Forest and of Rocky Reaches — were they done in your house ?

" " Oh, no, sir. She went to the places therrJselves, and painted them there." " Did she go to those places frequently ? " " Many and many a day she'd spend hours and hours there." " Did anyone accompany her ? " " No one, sir. Jimmy was at school, my husband was at work, and I had enough to do in the house." " She went alone ? " "Yes, sir. Only once, at the end of the month we've been speaking of " "Don't stop. We will proceed now with what occurred after that time. Once at the end of the month — what happened then ? " " She had been out all day, and when Jimmy came home I sent him to look for her. He was gone a long time, and it was six o'clock before they came back together." " Did you notice anything unusual in her appearance ? " " She was white as a ghost, and trembling like a leaf." "Anything else ?"

" Her clothes were quite wet." " Where did your son say he found her ? ': " At Rocky Reaches." " Did she account for her condition ? " " She said she had fallen into the water." " Did you beheve she spoke the truth ? " " I don't know how to answer you, sir. I was dis tressed about her, and when I'd put her to bed I said : ' My dear, I wish you'd let me write to your friends to come to you.' " " What was her reply ? " " She cried, ' No, no ! For God's sake, no ! " " When you heard that you knew she was suffering? " " I knew it all the time, poor soul ! " " But her words then particularly impressed you ? " " Yes, they did." " Was she ill after that ? " " Very ill, sir. She didn't leave her bed for three or four weeks." " What was her ailment ? " " She had brain fever." " You called a doctor in ?

" " Yes, sir, Dr. Martin." " Did he declare her to be in danger ? " " He said there was danger, and that if she got worse her friends ought to be written to." " Was that remark made in the prisoner's room while she was in bed ? " " It was, sir." " Did she hear it ? " " I can't say, sir. She was lying with her eyes closed." " Was she awake at the time ? " " I can't tell you that for certain either, sir." " From what transpired after the doctor's departure, did you think it probable that the prisoner must have been sensible while the doctor was speaking, and that she understood what he said ? " " It almost looked like it, sir. " Describe what made it look like it." " Thinking the young lady was asleep I left the room to get my husband's tea ready, and I was down stairs for an hour and more. When I went upstairs again I noticed that some papers had been burnt while I was away ; the ashes were in the grate, and no one else could have done it but the poor lady who was lying almost at death's door."

" The presumption is that, during your absence, she destroyed all written evidence in her possession which would have led to her friends being sent for ? " " I thought, so, sir. " One question respecting her visits to Brentingham Forest and Rocky Reaches, and especially as to her visit to the latter place on the day in question. Were you aware that she was in the habit of meeting any person there ? " " I was not, sir. " It might have been ? " " Certainly it might have been " Now, during the period that Dr. Martin was attending the prisoner in this illness, did he make a particular communication to you ? " ■r-r FOR THE DEFENCE. " He did, sir." " He asked you first an important question ? " " Yes, sir." " What was it ? " " Whether the poor lady was married. I said I did not know." "And afterwards he made the communication to you ?

" " Yes, sir." " What did you say to him ? " ■' I begged him not to mention it to anyone else, and he promised he wouldn't unless it was necessary." " Did you yourself mention it to any person ? " " Not while the poor lady was ill." " Not even to your husband ? " " No, sir." " You waited till the prisoner got well ? "' " Yes, sir." "And then?" " I told her, as gently as I could, what the doctor said." " How did she receive the disclosure ? " " She burst into tears, and begged me to keep her secret. I said it was a secret that could not be kept very long. 'Promise me,' she begged, 'that you will say nothing to anybody for a week.' I promised her at once, and she thanked me again and again, and kept kissing my hand. It made me ashamed. She went about the house, after that, quieter than ever, and with a face so full of grief that it almost broke my heart to look at her.

Hers was ; she told me so. ' Cheer up, my dear,' I said to her; 'you'll get over your trouble, and everything will come right. There are happy days in store for you yet.' ' Never, never, never ! ' she sobbed. ' There is no happiness in this world for me. My heart is broken ! ' " These pathetic words, spoken with intense feeling by a witness whose sympathies were so entirely with the unfortunate prisoner against whom she was probably giving fatal evidence, deeply affected every person who heard them. Especially was this noticeable in the counsel for the defence, whose, agitation was visible to all. It being now five o'clock, the court adjourned.

Chapter II. The Friends

At half-past seven on the same evening Mr. Moles worth, counsel for the defence, was sitting at a table in a private room in the Waverley Arms, with a mass of papers before him which he had been poring over for the last hour. He had hurried from the court to the hotel, and having partaken of dinner, which he ate sparingly and with the air of a man who had more im portant matters to occupy his attention than eating and drinking, had retired to his private room for the purpose of devoting his attention to the case upon which he was engaged. The documents consisted of letters, telegrams, and memoranda jotted down, apparently at odd times, on any chance scraps of paper that were available at the moment they suggested themselves. After awhile Mr. Molesworth pushed the papers aside, leaving exposed the photograph of a young girl, upon which he gazed so earnestly as to betoken that he was stirred by a deeper feeling than the mere relation be tween counsel and client could ordinarily arouse.

The photograph was that of the prisoner he was de fending, who was on her trial for the murder of her infant child by wilful drowning in Rocky Reaches. A beautiful face, childlike, radiant, and distinguished by a simplicity so sweet and attractive that it seemed incredible that the original, under any possible circumstances, could have been guilty of a crime so horrible. But in the mind of every person who was at all con versant with the particulars of the case, and whose judgment was not warped by sympathy and pity for the fair young creature, there existed no doubt as to the issue of the trial. She was guilty. Although the verdict was not yet pronounced, the beautiful girl was already condemned. Mr. Molesworth's absorbed and earnest gaze conjured up pictures of the past which agitated him so power fully that he set his teeth and clenched and unclenched his hands in agony.

Suddenly he rose to his feet, wresting his passion from the grooves into which it was leading him. It was the effort of a strong nature as serting itself and recalhng him to the stern and apparently hopeless task he had voluntarily undertaken. " This will never do," he muttered ; " it will unman me!" He glanced at the clock ; the hands pointed to ten minutes to eight. " In ten minutes he will be here," he said. " In ten minutes, in ten minutes." He had taken a telegram from the table, which he read while he spoke. It ran : " At eight o'clock I will be with you. Andrew." The words had scarcely passed his lips when he heard the sound of steps in the passage. Throwing open the door he saw two men, one a waiter employed in the hotel, the other a visitor who was being shown to his room. Dismissing the waiter, Mr. Molesworth pulled his visitor into the room, and, closing the door, looked anxiously into his face, endeavouring to read there whether the news he was about to hear was good or bad.