Mr. Pollard (_thinking the judge has finished_): 'And then what did you----'

The Judge (_superbly indifferent to Mr. Pollard_): 'Do you realize that you are giving evidence in a court of justice? You must be extremely careful--extremely careful.' (_A long pause; Mr. Pollard afraid to begin again._) 'Well, do you ask her anything more?'

Mr. Pollard: 'I beg your lordship's pardon. If your lordship pleases.'

(_To witness_) 'After the quarter of an hour, did you hear anything more?'

Witness (_now thoroughly frightened_): 'Yes.'

'What did you hear?'

'I heard her come out.'

At this point the judge threw down his pen, and threw himself back in his chair. Mr. Pollard hastened to take off the edge of his lordship's wrath by reprimanding the witness himself.

'You mustn't tell us that. You don't know it was the prisoner. What was it you actually heard?'

The girl now felt and looked ready to resort to tears. She really did not know what answer was safe, and prudently adopted a strictly non-committal form.

'I heard a noise below.'

'What was the noise like?'

'Like someone going downstairs.'

'Well, why didn't you say that? You heard footsteps going down?'

'Yes.'

The judge took up his pen again and took down the answer.

'And did you notice the footsteps this time?'

'Yes; they were----'

'Stop! Not so fast. Answer my questions.'

Mr. Pollard was by this time little less nervous than the witness. He was really utterly at a loss how to frame his next question without incurring Tressamer's wrath or the rebuke of the Bench. At last he blurted out:

'Was there anything different about the footsteps this time?'

Tressamer opened his mouth, but the judge was before him this time:

'Don't answer. Really, Mr. Pollard, you are as bad as the witness. You know you ought not to put a question like that.' Then, seeing that the poor young man was quite unequal to extracting the desired evidence, his lordship quietly took over the examination himself:

'Did you notice the footsteps this time when they were going downstairs?'

'Yes, sir--my lord.'

'Did anything strike you about them?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'What?'

'They were heavier, sir, and thumpy.'

'Had you ever heard anything like it before? I mean, did they or did they not sound familiar in spite of this heaviness?'

'No, my lord; I don't remember.'

'Did you go downstairs again?'

'No, sir.'

The judge turned round to the jury with complacency, and smiled as if to say, 'You see, gentlemen, how it can be done by one who knows how.'

Then he asked the counsel:

'Now, Mr. Pollard, do you want anything more from this witness?'

'No, my lord, thank you.'

He sat down, feeling considerably the worse for his experience, and Tressamer got up.

He looked severely at the young woman for some seconds, and then suddenly asked her:

'Why do you dislike Miss Owen?'

At once the court was all ears. It was one of those strokes of brilliant advocacy which few men care to venture on. It was dangerous, but in the present case it was completely successful. The witness lost countenance, stammered, and with difficulty got out a lame denial.

'I don't dislike her particular.'

'Do you like her?'

'No.'

'Did you ever have any complaint against her when you were her servant?' (He intentionally chose a phrase calculated to irritate.)

'I wasn't her servant,' was the angry reply. 'I should be very sorry to be.'

'I thought so. Tell me, you said to my learned friend that the first sound you heard on this night was like somebody being hurt, didn't you?'

'Yes, sir.'

'When did you discover that?'

'When did I discover that?'

'Yes, woman; don't echo me like that. You know what I mean.'