I didn't like
to set the constable after her, for she'd a right to go from me if she
liked."
The effect of this evidence on Adam was electrical; it gave him new
force. Hetty could not be guilty of the crime--her heart must have clung
to her baby--else why should she have taken it with her? She might have
left it behind. The little creature had died naturally, and then she
had hidden it. Babies were so liable to death--and there might be
the strongest suspicions without any proof of guilt. His mind was so
occupied with imaginary arguments against such suspicions, that he
could not listen to the cross-examination by Hetty's counsel, who tried,
without result, to elicit evidence that the prisoner had shown some
movements of maternal affection towards the child. The whole time this
witness was being examined, Hetty had stood as motionless as before: no
word seemed to arrest her ear. But the sound of the next witness's
voice touched a chord that was still sensitive, she gave a start and a
frightened look towards him, but immediately turned away her head and
looked down at her hands as before. This witness was a man, a rough
peasant. He said:
"My name is John Olding. I am a labourer, and live at Tedd's Hole, two
miles out of Stoniton.
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