“See you not, your honor, that her mind wavers—­that she speaks and thinks wildly?  I am satisfied that though she might say something, your honor, in accounting for my strange flight, yet, as that constitutes but a small feature in the circumstances against me, what she can allege will avail me little.  Press her no farther, therefore, I entreat you.  Let her retire.  Her word can do me no good, and I would not, that, for my sake and life, she should feel, for a single instant an embarrassment of spirit, which, though it be honorable in its character, must necessarily be distressing in its exercise.  Proceed with your judgment, I pray you—­whatever it may be; I am now ready for the worst, and though innocent as the babe unborn of the crime urged against me, I am not afraid to meet its consequences.  I am not unwilling to die.”

“But you must not die—­they will not—­they can not find you guilty!  How know they you are guilty?  Who dares say you are guilty, when I know you are innocent?  Did I not see you fly?  Did I not send you on your way—­was it not to escape from murder yourself that you flew, and how should you have been guilty of that crime of which you were the destined victim yourself?  Oh, no—­no! you are not guilty—­and the dagger—­I heard that!—­that is not true—­oh, no, the dagger,—­you dropt it—­”

The eye of the inspired girl was caught by a glance—­a single glance—­from one at the opposite corner of the court-room, and that glance brought her back to the full consciousness of the fearful development she was about to make.  A decrepit old woman, resting with bent form upon a staff, which was planted firmly before her, seemed wrapped in the general interest pervading the court.  The woman was huge of frame and rough of make; her face was large and swollen, and the tattered cap and bonnet, the coarse and soiled materials which she wore, indicated one of the humblest caste in the country.  Her appearance attracted no attention, and she was unmarked by all around; few having eyes for anything but the exciting business under consideration.

But the disguise did not conceal her uncle from the glance of his niece.  That one look had the desired effect—­the speech was arrested before its conclusion, and the spectators, now more than ever assured of the partial sanity of the witness, gave up any doubts which had previously began to grow in behalf of the accused.  A second look of the landlord was emphatic enough for the purpose of completely silencing her farther evidence.  She read in its fearful expression, as plainly as if spoken in words—­“The next syllable you utter is fatal to your uncle—­your father.  Now speak, Lucy, if you can.”

For a single moment she was dumb and stationary—­her eye turned from her uncle to the prisoner.  Horror, and the agonies natural to the strife in her bosom, were in its wild expression, and, with a single cry of “I can not—­I must not save him!” from her pallid lips, she sunk down senseless upon the floor, and was borne out by several of the more sympathizing spectators.