Waterbury evening Democrat. [volume] (Waterbury, Conn.) 1887-1895, 1890-08-01

the dock or on the bench; just as she
used to stand at her cottage door, to
hurl fierce and wrathful darts from her
quick tongue at Fitz. No other attl-
tude came quite naturally to Dorcas yet,
and she would adopt no unnatural one
for this occasion. Her face was lined
and hard, and her lips tight and stern
Even Marjorie, In her keen scrutiny,
could detect nothing In her manner be-
yond its old rigidity. As she took the
oath, with cold, scrupulous, and even
superstitious correctness, the girls heart
sunk with a sjckening despair.
"My name is Dorcas Cheere, and
live in the cottage adjoining that one 90
cupied through the last summer by the
prisoner at the bar.
Lower and lower sunk Marjorie's
heart. Lina's two hands went up to
cover her aching eyes. Louisa Castil-
lain leaned little more forward in her
seat, and listened eagerly with parted
lips.
al was very angry when Col. Stuart
obtained for him the cottage next to
mine, and told every one so. I did
not know anything about him, but
and resented it. He had no one liv-
ing with him but a little boy, who
called him father. They two muddled
on as they could at least I chose 10
think their life was . middle, though I
never went to see. I heard them making
absurd noises notwithstanding and
laughing and playing, just as if they
were two schoolboys out for holiday
and this naturally aggravated me more.
They were very poor, too, and l did not
care Gas used to say, whenever L had
an opportunity of saying it, for the cot
tage next mine to be let to a pauper.
/ knew he worked hard and earned
money, yet he had no furniture to speak
of, and no comforts in his house, and the
mystery of that provoked me, too. The
boy never went to school, nor played
with other boys, but he was
always with his father, as he
called him, and he used to read to him
for hours and hours at time. One day
Mr.. Jelfry came to my cottage on an
excuse Of sheltering, though I remem-
Der now that he went away in rain as
heavy rs he came in b.; and he began to
talk of my neighbor, and TO say quietly
evil things Of him and then he found
out from me-though I've been puzzling
since to nnd out how he did It. for I'm
no talkeF and babbler-that the wall in
my parloF closet was Hncommonly thin,
and that could often hear what the man
and boy were saying in the next room.
Over and over again he came after that,
pretending that he wanted to read val
liable book had Of history-several
months, at two shilIings q month, and
unfinished-really, though, TO listen to
what was going on next door, and to put
me up to listening, too. One night he
came moro quietly than usual,
and made more fuss about being
polite to me. Miss Chester
had gone to the other cottage. / was
vicious enough against them, remena-
Der, for I didn't know they we're any re-
lation to each other, and he seemed
rather to admire me for my anger. I
remember he talked q good deal about
his not being safe; in fact, he limited
that no life was safe near Mr.. Spendir. I
took it all in, and between his speeches
we listened to what they might be say
ing next door. Suddenly he heard what
I fancied he must so long have been
after. 1 heard it, too; it was just what
I told afterward to Mrs. Esdaile and to
the police. One gentleman has repeat
ed the words to-day exact. Recognized
their being exact, yet they sounded
more revengeful, as he said them, than I
thought for.
':That is ali, gentlemen, except that I
have bit of story of my own to tell,
if his Lordship allows me. hope he
will, for 1t is as necessary to this trial as
repeating those words I overheard.
Thank you," she said, as, after slight
discussion, she was told by the clerk to
speak up.
"More than thirty years ago"-her
voice was glow and calm only by great
effort, while her stern face flushed and
paled like a girls in her excitement
"more than thirty years ago my little
girl (my only one) was stolen from me,
and never saw her face again, or heard
a word OF her welfare or her death.
never knew whether 1 might watch, as
well as wait, for her home coming, or
whether 1 had any right to dream of
little girl in heaven. For thirty years
this suspense made my life cold and soil
tary, this and my own much-encouraged
ill-temper. Now, know her story, and
q little of it I must repeat to-day. When
she was grown up (and pretty, as I al
ways knew she would bel this man.
whom you call the deceased, saw her,
marry him. He took her from
the good friends wtlo had adopted
her and loved her, and he never let them
look upon her face again. He gave her
q dull, mean home in some out-of-the-
way part of London, going to her only
occasionally, living free, gay life him
self while she was penned in this COM
FORTRESS place, alone until after the
birth of her son-this boy, gentlemen,
who has been called the prisoners child.
At last he left her entirely. She worked
for her own livelihood and her baby's,
delicate. poor and friendless. The boy
was 3 or years old when the prisoner
having heard her story from those
friends who had been so good to her
sought her out, and helped and cheered
Eer. He would have sent his sister to
her, but that he knew it was no place for
her to go alone with her uncommon
beauty; so he went on being kind
to my little girl, until he was
accused of that crime which has been SO
much talked of to-day-the crime my
little girls cruel husband had commit
ted. don't know anything about how