“Your honor, I move that the new witness be heard,” said Mr. Romford.

“The defense is closed—­the charge given to the jury, who have decided upon their verdict,” answered the State’s Attorney.

“The verdict has not been rendered, the jury have the privilege of hearing this new witness,” said the judge.

The jury were unanimous in the resolution to withhold their verdict until they had heard.

This being decided, the Sister of Mercy took the stand, threw aside her long, black veil, and revealed the features of Jacquelina; but so pale, weary, anxious and terrified, as to be scarcely recognizable.

The usual oath was administered.

And while Cloudy stood triumphantly by the side of Mr. Willcoxen,
Jacquelina prepared to give her evidence.

She was interrupted by a slight disturbance near the door, and the rather noisy entrance of several persons, whom the crowd, on beholding, recognized as Commodore Waugh, his wife, his niece, and his servant.  Some among them seemed to insist upon being brought directly into the presence of the judge and jury—­but the officer near the door pointed out to them the witness on the stand, waiting to give testimony; and on seeing her they subsided into quietness, and suffered themselves to be set aside for a while.

When this was over—­a lady, plainly dressed, and close-veiled, entered, and addressed a few words to the same janitor.  But the latter replied as he had to the others, by pointing to the witness on the stand.  The veiled lady seemed to acquiesce, and sat down where the officer directed her.

“Order! silence in the court!” cried the marshal, not to be behindhand.

And order and silence reigned when the Sister gave in her evidence as follows: 

“My name is Jacquelina L’Oiseau—­not Grimshaw—­for I never was the wife of Dr. Grimshaw.  I do not like to speak further of myself, yet it is necessary, to make my testimony clear.  While yet a child I was contracted to Dr. Grimshaw in a civil marriage, which was never ratified.  I was full of mischief in these days, and my greatest pleasure was to torment and provoke my would-be bridegroom; alas! alas! it was to that wanton spirit that all the disaster is owing.  Thurston Willcoxen and Marian Mayfield were my intimate friends.  On the morning of the 8th of April, 182-, they were both at Luckenough.  Thurston left early.  After he was gone Marian chanced to drop a note, which I picked up and read.  It was in the handwriting of Thurston Willcoxen, and it appointed a meeting with Marian upon the beach, near Pine Bluff, for that evening.”

Here Mr. Romford placed in her hands the scrap of paper that had already formed such an important part of the evidence against the prisoner.

“Is that the note of which you speak?”