It was not her character but mine which Mr.Moffat was endeavouring to assail.
But though I was thus shown up for what I was, in a manner most public and undesirable, neither the rulings of the court, nor the attitude of the jury betrayed any loss of confidence in me as a credible witness, and seeing this, the wily lawyer shifted his ground and confined himself to an endeavour to shake me on certain definite and important points.

How were the pillows heaped upon the couch?
What ones at top, what ones at bottom?
Which did I remove first, and why did I remove any of them?
What had I expected to find?
These questions answered, the still more-to-be-dreaded ones followed of just how my betrothed looked at the moment I uncovered her face.

Were the marks very plain upon her throat?
How plain; and what did I mean by saying that I felt forced to lay my thumbs upon them?
Was that a natural thing to do?
Where was the candle at that moment?
How many feet away?
A candle does not give much light at that distance, was I sure that I saw those marks immediately; that they were dark enough and visible enough to draw my eyes from her face which would naturally attract my gaze first?
It was horrible, devilish, but I won through, only to meet the still more disturbing question as to whether I saw any other evidences of strangulation besides the marks.

I could only mention the appearance of the eyes; and when Mr.Moffat found that he could not shake me on this point, he branched off into a less harrowing topic and cross-examined me in regard to the ring.

I had said that it was on her hand when I bade good-bye to her in her own house, and that it was not there when I came upon her dead.