"I must ask for more details. Excuse me, but on what subjects were you and Mr. Maxwell conversing?"
"Do I have to tell that?" and Milly smiled at the coroner, looking almost like her old self again.
"I'm sorry to annoy you,"—Mr. Billings was certainly under the spell of Milly's smile,—"but I must ask you to."
"Well, then," and Milly pouted a little, "he was asking me to marry him."
"And you said?"
"Oh, I refused to. I had refused him lots of times before. He knew I didn't care for him,—that way."
"He knew then, that his was a hopeless suit?"
"He certainly did."
"Why, then, did he continue to insist upon it?"
"Well, he said that he had something to tell me that would make me change my mind."
"What was it?"
"I don't know, I'm sure. Before he had time to tell me, that awful man came, and—"
Milly put her hands up to her face, and swayed from side to side, as her thoughts flew back to the dreadful scene. Miss Lathrop put an arm around her, and offered her smelling-salts, while Edith Whiting whispered to the doctor, who only shook his head.
Indeed, all the members of the household sympathized with the poor little girl, suffering from shock and real illness. But the coroner and the District Attorney were determined to get her story if possible.
"Rest a few moments, Miss Leslie," said Mr. Billings, "and then try to continue."
"It's an outrage," murmured old Mr. Maxwell; "it's a shame to torment the poor child!"
"But better to get it over at once," said Lord Clarendon, who was gravely listening to the proceedings of the inquest.
I liked the Earl's manner; though solicitous for Mildred's comfort, he seemed to desire that the inquiry should go on as steadily as possible, toward the discovery of the truth.
"Never mind the intruder at present, Miss Leslie," went on the coroner. "What did you do then?"
"Nothing. I was so paralyzed with fright, that I couldn't move,—I couldn't even scream."
"And what did Mr. Maxwell do?"
"He seemed paralyzed too. It seemed like minutes, but I don't suppose it was, that we three stood there, looking at each other."
"And then?"
"And then," Mildred gasped as if for breath, but gripping the arms of her chair tightly, she went steadily on; "and then, Philip pulled open the top drawer of the table-desk, and grabbed out a pistol. He raised it to aim at the man, but at the same time, he said, in a low, mooning voice, 'Oh, to think he would shoot me!'"
"Then, Miss Leslie, you think Mr. Maxwell knew who shot him?"
"I think he must have known, from the way he spoke. But the man was a stranger to me. He had—"
"You may describe him later. Go on with your connected story, please."
"Well, when I saw Philip take his pistol, I had a wild desire to prevent either of the men from shooting. I suppose I was almost crazed by fright, and scarcely knew what I was doing. But my only thought was to attack the man who was threatening Philip, and so I threw—"
Mildred stopped suddenly in her recital. Both nurse and doctor leaned forward to see if she were exhausted, but she was not. She seemed to have been struck by a sudden thought, and hesitating what to say next. I chanced to look at the Earl and found him regarding Milly intently. He had a curious look on his face, and his tightly interlaced fingers were the first sign of nervousness he had shown. He did not glance my way, but kept his gaze fixed on Milly's face, as if trying to attract her attention. If so, he succeeded, for she turned slowly and looked in his direction. She gazed straight at him for a moment, and then tossed her head with a wilful little gesture peculiar to herself. Then she turned again to the coroner.
"Proceed, Miss Leslie. You threw something at this intruder?"
"Yes; I thought if I could hit him I might prevent his shooting. I snatched up a heavy cut-glass inkstand full of ink, from the desk, and threw it at him. I don't know whether it hit him or not, but the next second I picked up a bronze horse,—a paper-weight,—from the desk and threw that at him, too."
Milly was talking rapidly, and growing very much excited. Her cheeks burned, her eyes were big and shiny, and her fingers picked nervously at the arms of her chair.
Mr. Billings looked at her curiously. "You threw these heavy missiles at him?"
"Yes, I did! and it didn't take as long to do it, as it does to tell it, for my hands fairly flew. I couldn't speak or make a sound, but I felt impelled to act!"
"You are sure you threw these things, Miss Leslie?" and the coroner's tone was emphatically one of incredulity.
"Of course I'm sure!" she declared, angrily.
"And did any of these things hit him?"
"I don't know, I tell you! It's all a blur to me,—the whole scene. But I remember that Philip and the man paid no attention to me, but stood with their pistols pointed at each other. Then Philip said again, in that moaning voice, 'to think he would shoot me!' and just then the man fired."
"With what result?"
"Philip fell backward, and as he fell, his pistol dropped from his hand onto the desk." Mildred's excitement had died away, and she spoke now in a tense, low voice, and seemed to be holding herself together by a desperate effort. Her eyes had a far-away look, and she went steadily on. "I don't know what gave me courage, for I had never so much as touched a revolver before; but I suppose I was nerved up by fright, and I picked up Philip's pistol and aimed at the man, myself. With that," and Mildred's voice sank to a whisper, "he turned his own pistol toward me,—I heard the report,— and I remember falling forward. I remember nothing more."
There was a silence as Milly stopped speaking. Everyone felt the horror of the recital; everyone realized the mystery surrounding the crime. Who could have been desirous of killing both these young people?
I glanced round at our household group. The old people, Alexander Maxwell and his sister, sat hand in hand, their heads bowed with grief. Mr. Maxwell, I felt sure, had not heard all of the evidence, but of course it would be repeated to him afterwards. And perhaps after all it were well if he could be spared the harrowing details. Miss Maxwell sat with trembling lips, and though her heart was breaking, she controlled herself in her effort to be a comfort and stay to her brother.
Irene Gardiner was listening to Mildred with rapt attention and alert intelligence. She had not missed a word of all the inquiry, and I knew she was storing up in her memory every bit of testimony to be coldly considered afterward. Her air was judicial, and her calm impressed me unpleasantly. I admired the girl so much, that I resented this calculating side of her nature, which always jarred upon me.
Edith Whiting and her husband were more concerned lest the occasion prove too much for Mildred's strength and nerves, than they were in the outcome of the inquest.
The Earl sat with his eyes on the floor, now, and occasionally shook his head, as if dissatisfied with his own thoughts. Gilbert Crane was very nervous, and fidgeted incessantly with his watch-chain or a lead pencil or any small object he could lay hands on.
But the coroner was continuing his questions. "Miss Leslie," he said, "you have given a very clear and coherent statement. Now if you will describe the intruder, we will not disturb you further to-day."
"I can't describe him very much, except to say that he wore motoring clothes. A big coat, a cap with a visor, and goggles which covered most of his face."
"Not the lower part of his face?"
"No, but his large collar was turned up, and buttoned across in a way to hide his mouth and chin."
"Would you recognize him if you saw him again?"
"I'm