The inquest came on; the facts came out--mysteriously whispered before, spoken aloud now. And for the first time the truth dawned on the stunned baronet--he was suspected of the murder of the wife he loved!
The revolting atrocity, the unnatural horror of the charge, nerved him as nothing else could have done. His pale, proud face grew rigid as stone; his blue eyes flashed scornful defiance; his head reared itself haughtily aloft. How dare they accuse him of so monstrous a crime?
But the circ.u.mstantial evidence was crushing. Sybilla Silver"s evidence alone would have d.a.m.ned him.
She gave it with evident reluctance; but give it she did with frightful force, and the bereaved young husband stood stunned at the terrible strength of the case she made out.
Everything told against him. His very eagerness to find the murderer seemed but throwing dust in their eyes. Not a doubt lingered in the minds of the coroner or his jury, and before sunset that day Sir Everard Kingsland was on his way to Worrel Jail to stand his trial at the coming a.s.sizes for the willful murder of Harriet, his wife.
CHAPTER x.x.x.
MISS SILVER ON OATH.
The day of trial came. Long, miserable weeks of waiting--weeks of anguish and remorse and despair had gone before, and Sir Everard Kingsland emerged from his cell to take his place in the criminal dock and be tried for his life for the greatest crime man can commit.
The court-house was crowded to suffocation--there was not even standing room. The long gallery was one living semicircle of eyes; ladies, in gleaming silks and fluttering plumes, thronged as to the opera, and slender throats were craned, and bright eyes glanced eagerly to catch one fleeting glimpse of the pale prisoner--a baronet who had murdered his bride before the honey-moon was well over.
The case was opened in a long and eloquent speech by the counsel for the crown, setting forth the enormity of the crime, citing a hundred incidents of the horrible and unnatural deeds jealousy had made men commit, from the days of the first murderer.
His address was listened to in profoundest silence. The charge he made out was a terribly strong one, and when he sat down and the first witness was called the hearts of Sir Everard Kingsland"s friends sunk like lead.
He pleaded "Not guilty!" with an eye that flashed and a voice which rang, and a look in his pale, proud face that no murderer"s face ever wore on this earth, and with those two words he had carried conviction to many a doubter.
"Call Sybilla Silver."
All in black--in trailing c.r.a.pe and sables, tall, stately, and dignified as a young d.u.c.h.ess--Sybilla Silver obeyed the call.
She was deeply veiled at first, and when she threw back the heavy black veil, and the dark, bright, beautiful face looked full at judge and jury, a low murmur thrilled through the throng.
Those who saw her for the first time stared in wonder and admiration at the tall young woman in black, with the face and air of an Indian queen, and those to whom she was known thought that Miss Silver had never, since they saw her first, looked half as handsome as she did this day.
Her brilliant bloom of color was gone; she was interestingly pale, and her great black eyes were unnaturally deep and mournful.
"Your name is Sybilla Silver, and you reside at Kingsland Court. May we ask in what character--as friend or domestic?"
"As both. Sir Everard Kingsland has been my friend and benefactor from the first. I have been treated as a confidential friend both by him and his mother."
"By the deceased Lady Kingsland also, I conclude?"
"I was in the late Lady Kingsland"s confidence--yes."
"You were the last who saw her alive on the night of March tenth--the night of the murder?"
"I was."
"Where did you part from her?"
"At her own chamber door. We bade each other good-night, and I retired to rest immediately."
"What hour was that?"
"About ten minutes before eleven."
"What communication were you making to Lady Kingsland at that hour?"
"I came to tell her the household had all retired--that she could quit the house un.o.bserved whenever she chose."
"You knew, then, that she had an a.s.signation for that night?"
"I did. It was I who brought her the message. She was to meet Mr.
Parmalee at midnight, on the stone terrace."
"Who was this Mr. Parmalee?"
"An American gentleman--a traveling photographic artist, between whom and my lady a secret existed."
"A secret unknown to her husband?"
"Yes."
"And this secret was the cause of their mysterious midnight meeting?"
"It was. Mr. Parmalee dare not come to the house. Sir Everard had driven him forth with blows and abuse, and forbidden him to enter the grounds. My lady knew this, and was forced to meet him by stealth."
"Where was Sir Everard on this night?"
"At a military dinner given by Major Morrell, here in Worrel."
"What time did he return to Kingsland Court?"
"At half past eleven, as nearly as I can judge. I did not see him for some ten or fifteen minutes after; then Claudine, my lady"s maid, came and aroused me--said Sir Everard was in my lady"s dressing-room and wished to see me at once."
"You went?"
"I went immediately. I found Sir Everard in a state of pa.s.sionate fury no words can describe. By some means he had learned of the a.s.signation; through an anonymous note left upon his dressing-table, he said."
"Did you see this note?"
"I did not. He had none in his hand, nor have I seen any since."
"What did the prisoner say to you?"
"He asked me where was his wife--he insisted that I knew. He demanded an answer in such a way I dared not disobey."
"You told him?"