The counsel to whom this duty fell knew he had a _case_ to deal with and began warily, finding her attitude materially changed. The side which had subpoenaed her was against Paul; the defense was for him, and she would like to have taken back all she had said, if she could consistently do so. Only once did she grow peppery and threatening, and that when the lawyer tried to shake her recollection of what she saw and heard. “Have you ever thought your memory might be a little treacherous? It is apt to become so—with age,” the lawyer said, and Miss Hansford roused at once. If there was one thing more than another in which she prided herself, after her blood, it was her memory, and an insinuation that it was faulty made her furious. “I wish to the Lord it was treacherous,” she said, “but it ain’t. I can remember everything I ever heard or saw, and more, too. I know what I am talking about, if I have acted like a tarnal fool and made a spectacle of myself. I’m so mad that I have to be here, but I know what I’m about if I am sixty-five years old. There, you’ve found out my age, haven’t you, and you are welcome to it.” She turned to the attorney, who, now that he was rid of her, was enjoying her idiosyncrasies to the full. A few more questions were asked her, and then, with a parting shaft at the judge, the lawyers and the whole business, she was dismissed, with cheers from the boys, who were not to be restrained by any threats of the police officer shaking his club at them, or any calls from the judge, scarcely less amused than they were. The spectators were all laughing. Things to-day were lively and atoned for the monotony of yesterday’s proceedings. The physicians who attended Jack were next called and testified to Paul’s appearance in the room, with no signs of guilt in his manner. He had suggested suicide, and they had accepted the theory for a time, or one of them had. The other, for whom Elithe had been sent, had been suspicious from what she told him she had seen. There was a faint sound from Elithe, whose hand grasped her aunt’s dress again as if for support or comfort. Miss Hansford was bathed in perspiration, which rolled down her face and dropped from her nose and chin. She was weak, too, and leaned back in her chair and fanned herself with her handkerchief until some one passed her a palm-leaf and a glass of water. Thus revived she sat up stiff and straight as before, while the bullet extracted from the wound was produced and fitted into the revolver, which was again passed for inspection. “Don’t pint it this way,” she said, with a toss of her head, as it came near her.