The next witness called was Edmund R. Moor. The Bible was passed to him to swear upon, but he pushed it hurriedly away from him and said that he would affirm, and not swear to the truth of his statement. Mr. Morrow seemed somewhat surprised, but he said nothing, and took Mr. Moor’s affirmation as he desired. He then testified that he had been with Isaac Naylor the afternoon before, at about four o’clock. The deceased had come to consult him upon a matter of business concerning some money that he, the witness, had invested for the other. He had left him, saying that he was going down to White’s store for his letters. He had seen deceased about half an hour later, walking up Market Street. He, the witness, had been feeling ill all day, and had quitted his office to step around to the stable for his horse, thinking a ride might be of benefit to him. He had seen deceased turn into Penrose’s road, and remembered to have heard him say, a little while before, that he was going to see Elihu Penrose’s daughter, whom he was engaged to marry. Tom looked at Patty as Mr. Moor said these words, and saw her hide her face with her trembling hands. He groaned when he saw the agony that it caused her. The witness then went on to say that he had thought no more of it, but was watering his horse at the shallow, when he saw the prisoner run out of the road and turn up the turnpike, in the direction of Granger’s farmhouse. The magistrate asked Mr. Moor several questions, in answer to which he said that he had not known the prisoner, because of the beard and the whiteness of his hair; he did not think of its being Mr. Thomas Granger. He also said that he had gone on up the turnpike after he had watered his horse; that he had not thought of anything having happened to Isaac Naylor, and that he did not hear any cry or call for help, to make him think that anything had gone wrong. Mr. Moor was so white that the magistrate asked him if he was ill. “I do feel sick,” said he. “I haven’t felt well since yesterday morning. Maybe it’s the closeness of the room that makes me feel sick now.” He wiped his face with his bandana handkerchief as he spoke, for it was wet with the sweat that ran trickling down his cheeks. “I’m sorry you feel so sick, Mr. Moor,” said the magistrate. “If you have no more use for me, I’d like to go,” said Mr. Moor. Mr. Morrow said that he might leave now, if he wished, so he worked his way through the crowd in the office, looking neither to the right nor to the left, and so went into the street. The next witness called was Patty Penrose, and she stood up, resting her hand on the top of her chair as she did so. There was not a particle of color in her face as she stood before the magistrate. A strand of hair had fallen across her brow, but she did not brush it back, or seem to notice it. Tom’s heart bled for her as he stood looking at her. “Will you swear or affirm?” said the magistrate.