"It - it was hardly a party, sir," she answered, with her unconquerable insistence upon trifles. "We were just Sir Terence and myself, Miss Armytage, Count Samoval, Colonel Grant, Major Carruthers and Captain Tremayne."
"Can your ladyship recall any words that passed between the deceased and Captain Tremayne on that occasion - words of disagreement, I mean?"
She knew that there had been something, but in her benumbed state of mind she was incapable of remembering what it was. All that remained in her memory was Sylvia's warning after she and her cousin had left the table, Sylvia's insistence that she should call Captain Tremayne away to avoid trouble between himself and the Count. But, search as she would, the actual subject of disagreement eluded her. Moreover, it occurred to her suddenly, and sowed fresh terror in her soul, that, whatever it was, it would tell against Captain Tremayne.
"I - I am afraid I don't remember," she faltered at last.
"Try to think, Lady O'Moy."
" I - I have tried. But I - I can't." Her voice had fallen almost to a whisper.
"Need we insist?" put in the president compassionately. "There are sufficient witnesses as to what passed on that occasion without further harassing her ladyship."
"Quite so, sir," the major agreed in his dry voice. "It only remains for the prisoner to question the witness if he so wishes."
Tremayne shook his head. "It is quite unnecessary, sir," he assured the president, and never saw the swift, grim smile that flashed across Sir Terence's stern face.
Of the court Sir Terence was the only member who could have desired to prolong the painful examination of her ladyship. But he perceived from the president's attitude that he could not do so without betraying the vindictiveness actuating him; and so he remained silent for the present. He would have gone so far as to suggest that her ladyship should be invited to remain in court against the possibility of further evidence being presently required from her but that he perceived there was no necessity to do so. Her deadly anxiety concerning the prisoner must in itself be sufficient to determine her to remain, as indeed it proved. Accompanied and half supported by Miss Armytage, who was almost as pale as herself, but otherwise very steady in her bearing, Lady O'Moy made her way, with faltering steps to the benches ranged against the side wall, and sat there to hear the remainder of the proceedings.
After the uninteresting and perfunctory evidence of the sergeant of the guard who had been present when the prisoner was ordered under arrest, the next witness called was Colonel Grant. His testimony was strictly in accordance with the facts which we know him to have witnessed, but when he was in the middle of his statement an interruption occurred.
At the extreme right of the dais on which the table stood there was a small oaken door set in the wall and giving access to a small ante-room that was known, rightly or wrongly, as the abbot's chamber.
That anteroom communicated directly with what was now the guardroom, which accounts for the new-comer being ushered in that way by the corporal at the time.
At the opening of that door the members of the court looked round in sharp annoyance, suspecting here some impertinent intrusion.
The next moment, however, this was changed to respectful surprise.
There was a scraping of chairs and they were all on their feet in token of respect for the slight man in the grey undress frock who entered. It was Lord Wellington.
Saluting the members of the court with two fingers to his cocked hat, he immediately desired them to sit, peremptorily waving his hand, and requesting the president not to allow his entrance to interrupt or interfere with the course of the inquiry.
"A chair here for me, if you please, sergeant," he called and, when it was fetched, took his seat at the end of the table, with his back to the door through which he had come and immediately facing the prosecutor. He retained his hat, but placed his riding-crop on the table before him; and the only thing he would accept was an officer's notes of the proceedings as far as they had gone, which that officer himself was prompt to offer. With a repeated injunction to the court to proceed, Lord Wellington became instantly absorbed in the study of these notes.
Colonel Grant, standing very straight and stiff in the originally red coat which exposure to many weathers had faded to an autumnal brown, continued and concluded his statement of what he had seen and heard on the night of the 28th of May in the garden at Monsanto.
The judge-advocate now invited him to turn his memory back to the luncheon-party at Sir Terence's on the 27th, and to tell the court of the altercation that had passed on that occasion between Captain Tremayne and Count Samoval.
"The conversation at table," he replied, "turned, as was perhaps quite natural, upon the recently published general order prohibiting duelling and making it a capital offence for officers in his Majesty's service in the Peninsula. Count Samoval stigmatised the order as a degrading and arbitrary one, and spoke in defence of single combat as the only honourable method of settling differences between gentlemen. Captain Tremayne dissented rather sharply, and appeared to resent the term 'degrading' applied by the Count to the enactment. Words followed, and then some one - Lady O'Moy, I think, and as I imagine with intent to soothe the feelings of Count Samoval, which appeared to be ruffled - appealed to his vanity by mentioning the fact that he was himself a famous swordsman. To this Captain Tremayne's observation was a rather unfortunate one, although I must confess that I was fully in sympathy with it at the time. He said, as nearly as I remember, that at the moment Portugal was in urgent need of famous swords to defend her from invasion and not to increase the disorders at home."
