The witness answered that he was not; that he had standing orders to call his master every morning at seven o’clock, except otherwise instructed by Sir Lemuel.
Another juror inquired of the witness whether he had received these exceptional instructions on the previous night.
The witness answered that he had received such; that his master had sent him with a message to his daughter, Miss Levison, requesting her to come to his room, as he wished to have a talk with her. He delivered his message through Miss Levison’s maid, and returned to his master’s room. But when Miss Levison was announced Sir Lemuel dismissed him with permission to retire to bed at once, and not to call his master in the morning, but to wait until Sir Lemuel should ring his bell.
“I left Miss Levison with her father, your honor, and that was the last time as ever I saw my master alive,” concluded the valet, trembling like a leaf.
“I presume that Miss Levison will be able to corroborate this part of your testimony. Where is Miss Levison? Let her be called,” said the coroner.
The family physician, who was present at the inquest, arose in his place and said:
“Miss Levison, sir, is not now available as a witness. She is lying in her chamber, nearly at the point of death, with brain fever.”
“Lord bless my soul, I am sorry to hear that! But it is no wonder, poor young lady, after such a shock,” said the kind-hearted coroner.
“But here, sir,” continued the doctor, “is a witness who, I think, will be able to give us some light.”
AFTER THE DISCOVERY.
“Sir, if you please, I request that this witness be immediately placed under examination,” said Lord Arondelle, who sat, with pale, stern visage, among the spectators, now addressing the coroner.
“Yes, certainly, my lord. Let the man be called,” answered the latter.
A short, stout, red-haired and freckle-faced boy, clothed in a well-worn suit of gray tweed, came forward and was duly sworn.
“What is your name, my lad?” inquired the coroner’s clerk.
“Cuddie McGill, an’ it please your worship,” replied the shock-headed youth.
“How old are you?”
“Ou, ay, just nineteen come St. Andrew’s Eve, at night.”
“Where do you live?”
“Wi’ my maister, Gillie Ferguson, the saddler, at Lone.”
“Well now, then, what do you know about this case?” inquired the clerk, who, pen in hand, had been busily taking down the unimportant, preliminary answers of the witness under examination.
“Aweel, thin your worship, I ken just naething of ony account; but I just happen speak what I saw yestreen under the castle wa’, and doctor here, he wad hae me come my ways and tell your honor; its naething just,” replied Cuddie McGill, scratching his shock head.