Great Britain -- History -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction
She had expected, like Cicely on the previous evening, to behold a
coarse, brutal ruffian, ferocity and hatred stamped on every feature.
When, in place of such a creature, she beheld the handsome face and
noble bearing of her judge, she gave a gasp of surprise. Pity also
filled her heart, for his eyes were half closed, and there were traces
of suffering on his face, as he lay back in his chair with an air of
extreme exhaustion. The terrible malady to which he was a victim
tortured him, and the long day in court had tried him severely; but no
amount of physical suffering could overcome the iron will, or prevent
him even for a day from pursuing that strange course of relentless
cruelty which he had elected to follow.
When Barbara took her place in the dock he roused himself with an
effort, and looked at her with a sharp piercing glance.
"What!" he exclaimed. "Yet another of these women rebels. Are we never
to have an end of them? Can they not find mischief enow to do in their
own homes, but they must needs interfere in affairs of state? What is
the prisoner’s name?"
"Mistress Barbara Winslow, my lord."
"Winslow! Winslow!"
"Aye, my lord," answered one of the crown lawyers. "Her brother followed
the rebel duke, but through her connivance, so it is submitted, he hath
escaped the country."
"Ah, ha! so she comes of a fine rebel stock, eh?"
The several counts in the indictment were furnished by Barbara’s
participation in the escape of Sir Peter Dare, her interference with the
whipping of the boy at Durford, and other incidents of a trifling
character in themselves, but of which the prosecuting counsel did not
fail to take full advantage. The first witness called Corporal Crutch,
who took no pains to conceal his malignant satisfaction in prejudicing
the chances of the prisoner by every means in his power. Barbara’s
pride, and her contempt for the man forbade her to question the
corporal’s evidence, even though she was urged to do so by Sir William
Montague, the chief baron of the court; and after corroboration of the
corporal’s story by other troopers the case for the crown being closed,
Barbara was asked whether she had anything to say in her defence before
the jury considered their verdict and the court pronounced sentence.
"So please you, my lords," answered Barbara, ignoring Jeffreys
pointedly, and addressing herself to the three judges who sat with him,
"that I am a traitor I deny utterly. As for the stories these men tell
of me, why, they are true enough I must admit. But what then? I did
but give food and assistance to those in dire distress and misery, I did
no more than we are e’en commanded in the Gospels."
"The Gospels! The Gospels!" interrupted Jeffreys scornfully.
"Aye, my lord," answered Barbara, turning on him sharply. "The Gospels.
In which books methinks your lordship hath made but scant study."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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