Mrs. Marston, meanwhile, suffered from a horrible uncertainty. She never
harbored, it is true, one doubt as to her husband's perfect innocence of
the ghastly crime which filled their house with fear and gloom; but at
the same time that she thoroughly and indignantly scouted the possibility
of his, under any circumstances, being accessory to such a crime, she
experienced a nervous and agonizing anxiety lest anyone else should
possibly suspect him, however obliquely and faintly, of any participation
whatever in the foul deed. This vague fear tortured her; it had taken
possession of her mind; and it was the more acutely painful, because it
was of a kind which precluded the possibility of her dispelling it, as
morbid fears so often are dispelled, by taking counsel upon its
suggestions with a friend. The day wore on, and strange faces began to fill the great parlor. The
coroner, accompanied by a physician, had arrived. Several of the gentry
in the immediate vicinity had been summoned as jurors, and now began to
arrive in succession. Marston, in a handsome and sober suit, received
these visitors with a stately and melancholy courtesy, befitting the
occasion. Mervyn and his son had both been summoned, and, of course, were
in attendance. There being now a sufficient number to form a jury, they
were sworn, and immediately proceeded to the chamber where the body of
the murdered man was lying. Marston accompanied them, and with a pale and stern countenance, and in a
clear and subdued tone, called their attention successively to every
particular detail which he conceived important to be noted. Having thus
employed some minutes, the jury again returned to the parlor, and the
examination of the witnesses commenced. Marston, at his own request, was first sworn and examined. He deposed
merely to the circumstance of his parting, on the night previous, with
Sir Wynston, and to the state in which he had seen the room and the body
in the morning. He mentioned also the fact, that on hearing the alarm in
the morning, he had hastened from his own chamber to Sir Wynston's, and
found, on trying to enter, that the door opening upon the passage was
secured on the inside. This circumstance showed that the murderer must
have made his egress at least through the valet's chamber, and by the
back-stairs. Marston's evidence went no further. The next witness sworn was Edward Smith, the servant of the late Sir
Wynston Berkley. His evidence was a narrative of the occurrences we have
already stated. He described the sounds which he had overheard from his
master's room, the subsequent appearance of Merton, and the conversation
which had passed between them. He then proceeded to mention, that it was
his master's custom to have himself called at seven o'clock, at which
hour he usually took some medicine, which it was the valet's duty to
bring to him; after which he either settled again to rest, or rose in a
short time, if unable to sleep. Having measured and prepared the dose in
the dressing room, the servant went on to say, he had knocked at his
master's door, and receiving no answer, had entered the room, and partly
unclosed the shutters. He perceived the blood on the carpet, and on
opening the curtains, saw his master lying with his mouth and eyes open,
perfectly dead, and weltering in gore. He had stretched out his hand, and
seized that of the dead man, which was quite stiff and cold; then, losing
heart, he had run to the door communicating with the passage, but found
it locked, and turned to the other entrance, and ran down the
back-stairs, crying "murder." Mr. Hughes, the butler, and James Carney,
another servant, came immediately, and they all three went back into the
room. The key was in the outer door, upon the inside, but they did not
unlock it until they had viewed the body. There was a great pool of blood
in the bed, and in it was lying a red-handled case knife, which was
produced, and identified by the witness. Just then they heard Mr. Marston
calling for admission, and they opened the door with some difficulty, for
the lock was rusty. Mr. Marston had ordered them to leave the things as
they were, and had used very stern language to the witness. They had then
left the room, securing both doors. This witness underwent a severe and searching examination, but his
evidence was clear and consistent. In conclusion, Marston produced a dagger, which was stained with blood,
and asked the man whether he recognized it. Smith at once stated this to have been the property of his late master,
who, when traveling, carried it, together with his pistols, along with
him. Since his arrival at Gray Forest, it had lain upon the
chimney-piece in his bedroom, where he believed it to have been upon the
previous night. James Carney, one of Marston's servants, was next sworn and examined. He
had, he said, observed a strange and unaccountable agitation and
depression in Merton's manner for some days past; he had also been
several times disturbed at night by his talking aloud to himself, and
walking to and fro in his room. Their bedrooms were separated by a thin
partition, in which was a window, through which Carney had, on the night
of the murder, observed a light in Merton's room, and, on looking in, had
seen him dressing hastily. He also saw him twice take up, and again lay
down, the red-hafted knife which had been found in the bed of the
murdered man. He knew it by the handle being broken near the end. He had
no suspicion of Merton having any mischievous intentions, and lay down
again to rest. He afterwards heard him pass out of his room, and go
slowly up the back-stairs leading to the upper story. Shortly after this
he had fallen asleep, and did not hear or see him return. He then
described, as Smith had already done, the scene which presented itself in
the morning, on his accompanying him into Sir Wynston's bedchamber. The next witness examined was a little Irish boy, who described himself
as "a poor scholar." His testimony was somewhat singular. He deposed that
he had come to the house on the preceding evening, and had been given
some supper, and was afterwards permitted to sleep among the hay in one
of the lofts. He had, however, discovered what he considered a snugger
berth. This was an unused stable, in the further end of which lay a
quantity of hay. Among this he had lain down, and gone to sleep. He was,
however, awakened in the course of the night by the entrance of a man,
whom he saw with perfect distinctness in the moonlight, and his
description of his dress and appearance tallied exactly with those of
Merton. This man occupied himself for sometime in washing his hands and
face in a stable bucket, which happened to stand by the door; and, during
the whole of this process, he continued to moan and mutter, like one in
woeful perturbation. He said, distinctly, twice or thrice, "by ----, I am
done for;" and every now and then he muttered, "and nothing for it, after
all."