“Was your husband named John Rushton?” asked Ralph.

“Yes,” she replied meekly, and all but inaudibly.

“John Rushton of Aberleigh!”

“The same.”

“Did you ever hear him speak of an old comrade—­Ralph Ray?”

“Yes, yes,” answered the witness, lifting her hands to her face and sobbing aloud.

“The prisoner wastes the time of the court.  Let us proceed.”

Ralph saw the situation at a glance.  The woman’s evidence—­whatever it might be—­was to be forced from her.  “Have you seen these prisoners before?”

“Yes, one of them.”

“Perhaps both?”

“Yes, perhaps both.”

“Pray tell my lords and the jury what you know concerning them.”

The woman tried to speak and stopped, tried again and stopped.

Counsel, coming to her relief, said,—­

“It was in Wythburn you saw them; when was that?”

“I passed through it with my two children at Martinmas,” the witness began falteringly.

“Tell my lords and the jury what happened then.”

“I had passed by the village, and had come to a cottage that stood at the angle of two roads.  The morning was cold, and my poor babies were crying.  Then it came on to rain.  So I knocked at the cottage, and an old man opened the door.”

“Do you see the old man in this court?”

“Yes—­there,” pointing to where Sim stood in the dock with downcast eyes.

There was a pause.

“Come, good woman, let my lords and the jury hear what further you know of this matter.  You went into the cottage!”

“He said I might warm the children at the fire; their little limbs were as cold as stone.”

“Well, well?”

“He seemed half crazed, I thought; but he was very kind to me and my little ones.  He gave them some warm milk, and said we might stay till the weather cleared.  It did not clear all day.  Towards nightfall the old man’s daughter came home.  She was a dear fine girl, God bless her!”

The silence of the court was only disturbed by a stifled groan from the bar, where Sim still stood with downcast eyes.  Ralph gazed through a blinding mist at the rafters overhead.

“She nursed the little ones, and gave them oaten cake and barley bread.  The good people were poor themselves; I could see they were.  It rained heavier than ever, so the young woman made a bed for us in a little room, and we slept in the cottage until morning.”

“Was anything said concerning the room you slept in?” “They said it was their lodger’s room; but he was away, and would not return until the night following.”

“Next day you took the road towards the North?”

“Yes, towards Carlisle.  They told me that if my husband were ever taken he would be brought to Carlisle.  That was why I wished to get here.  But I had scarce walked a mile—­I had a baby at the breast and a little boy who could just toddle beside me—­I had scarce walked a mile before the boy became ill, and could not walk.  I first thought to go back to the cottage, but I was too weak to carry both children.  So I sat with my little ones by the roadside.”