observed this and
the satisfaction with which Mr. Moffat scented this new witness,--a
satisfaction which promised little consideration for her if she ever came
upon the stand--I surrendered to fate.
Inwardly committing Carmel's future to the God who made her and who knew
better than we the story of her life and what her fiery temper had cost
her, I drew a piece of paper from my pocket, and, while the courtroom was
slowly emptying, hastily addressed the following lines to Mr. Moffat who
had lingered to have a few words with his colleague:
"There is a witness in this building who can testify more clearly and
definitely than Miss Fulton, that Arthur Cumberland, for all we have
heard in seeming contradiction to the same, might have been on the
golf-links at the time he swears to. That witness is myself.
"ELWOOD RANELAGH."
The time which elapsed between my passing over this note and his
receiving and reading it, was to me like the last few moments of a
condemned criminal. How gladly would I have changed places with Arthur,
and with what sensations of despair I saw flitting before me in my mind's
eye, the various visions of Carmel's loveliness which had charmed me out
of myself. But the die had been cast, and I was ready to meet the
surprised lawyer's look when his eve rose from the words I had written
and settled steadily on my face. Next minute he was writing busily and in
a second later I was reading these words:
"Do you absolutely wish to be recalled as a witness, and by the
defence? M."
My answer was brief:
"I do. Not to make a confession of crime. I have no such confession to
make. But I know who drove that horse. R."
I had sacrificed Carmel to my sense of right. Never had I loved her as I
did at that moment.
XXVII
EXPECTANCY
I see your end,
'T is my undoing.
_King Henry VIII_.
A turning-point had been reached in the defence. That every one knew
after the first glance at Mr. Moffat, on the opening of the next
morning's session. As I noted the excitement which this occasioned even
in quarters where self-control is usually most marked and such emotions
suppressed, I marvelled at the subtle influence of one man's expectancy,
and the powerful effect which can be produced on a feverish crowd by a
well-ordered silence suggestive of coming action.
I, who knew the basis of this expectancy and the nature of the action
with which Mr. Moffat anticipated startling the court, was the quiete
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