CHAPTER XXXV.
"The cold neutrality of an impartial judge."--BURKE.
The jury were out.
They had been out four hours, but the crowd in the closely packedcourt-room still kept its ranks unbroken, and even seemed to grow moredense; for if, here and there, one person went away, two from thewaiting throng of those in the halls and about the doors immediatelypressed their way in to take the vacant place. The long warm summer daywas drawing toward its close. The tired people fanned themselves, butwould not go, because it was rumored that a decision was near.
Outside, the fair green farming country, which came up almost to thedoors, stretched away peacefully in the twilight, shading into the graysof evening down the valley, and at the bases of the hills. The fieldswere falling asleep; eight o'clock sounding from a distant church bellseemed like a curfew and good-night.
If one had had time to think of it, the picture of the crowdedcourt-room, rising in that peaceful landscape, was a strange one. But noone had time to think of it. Lights had been brought in. The summerbeetles, attracted by them, flew in through the open windows, knockedthemselves against the wall, fell to the floor, and then slowly tookwing again to repeat the process. With the coming of the lights thecrowd stirred a little, looked about, and then settled itself anew. Theprisoner's chances were canvassed again, and for the hundredth time. Thetestimony of Anne Douglas had destroyed the theory which had seemed tofill out so well the missing parts of the story; it had proved that thesupposed rival was a friend of the wife's, and that the wife loved her;it had proved that Mrs. Heathcote was devoted to her husband, and happywith him, up to the last hour of her life. This was much. But thecircumstantial evidence regarding the movements of the prisoner atTimloesville remained unchanged; he was still confronted by the fact ofhis having been seen on that outside stairway, by the other significantdetails, and by the print of that left hand.
During this evening waiting, the city papers had come, were brought in,and read. One of them contained some paragraphs upon a point which, inthe rapid succession of events that followed each other in the case, hadbeen partially overlooked--a point which the country readers cast asideas unimportant, but which wakened in the minds of the city peoplepresent the remembrance that they had needed the admonition.
"But if this conversation (now given in full) was remarkable," wrote theeditor far away in New York, "it should not be forgotten that thecircumstances were remarkable as well. While reading it one should keepclearly in mind the fact that the subject of it, namely, CaptainHeathcote, was, in the belief of both the speakers, dead. Had it notbeen for this belief of theirs, these words would never have beenuttered. He was gone from earth forever--killed suddenly in battle. Sucha death brings the deepest feelings of the heart to the surface. Such adeath wrings out avowals which otherwise would never be made. Words canbe spoken over a coffin--where all is ended--which could never be spokenelsewhere. Death brought together these two women, who seem to haveloved each other through and in spite of all. One has gone. And now themenacing shadow of a far worse death has forced the other to comeforward, and go through a cruel ordeal, an ordeal which was, however,turned into a triumph by the instant admiration which all rightly mindedpersons gave to the pure, noble bravery which thus saved a life. Foralthough the verdict has not yet been given, the general opinion is thatthis new testimony turned the scale, and that the accused man will beacquitted."
But this prophecy was not fulfilled.
Five hours of waiting. Six hours. And now there came a stir. The jurywere returning; they had entered; they were in their places. RachelBannert bent her face behind her open fan, that people should not seehow white it was. Miss Teller involuntarily rose. But as many had alsorisen in the crowded room, which was not brightly lighted save round thelawyers' tables, they passed unnoticed. The accused looked straight intothe faces of the jurors. He was quite calm; this part seemed far lesstrying to him than that which had gone before.
And then it was told: they had neither convicted nor acquitted him. Theyhad disagreed.
Anne Douglas was not present. She was sitting alone in an unlightedhouse on the other side of the little country square. Some one walkingup and down there, under the maples, had noticed, or rather divined, afigure at the open window behind the muslin curtains of the dark room;he knew that this figure was looking at the lights from the court-roomopposite, visible through the trees.
This man under the maples had no more intention of losing the finalmoment than the most persistent countryman there. But being in the habitof using his money, now that he had it, rather than himself, he hadposted two sentinels, sharp-eyed boys whom he had himself selected, onein an upper window of the court-room on the sill, the other outside onthe sloping roof of a one-story building which touched it. The boy inthe window was to keep watch; the boy on the roof was to drop to theground at the first signal from the sill, and run. By means of thishuman telegraph, its designer under the maples intended to reach thewindow himself, through the little house whose door stood open (itsmistress having already been paid for the right of way), in time to hearand see the whole. This intention was carried out--as his intentionsgenerally were. The instant the verdict, or rather the want of verdict,was announced, he left the window, hastened down through the littlehouse, and crossed the square. The people would be slow in leaving thecourt-room, the stairway was narrow, the crowd dense; the square wasempty as he passed through it, went up the steps of the house occupiedby Miss Teller, crossed the balcony, and stopped at the open window.
"Anne?" he said.
A figure stirred within.
"They have disagreed. The case will now go over to the November term,when there will be a new trial."
He could see that she covered her face with her hands. But she did notspeak.
"It was your testimony that turned the scale," he added.
After a moment, as she still remained silent, "I am going awayto-night," he went on; "that is, unless there is something I can do foryou. Will you tell me your plans?"
"Yes, always," she answered, speaking low from the darkness. "Everythingconcerning me you may always know, if you care to know. But so far Ihave no plan."
"I leave you with Miss Teller; that is safety. Miss Teller claims theprivilege now of having you with her always."
"I shall not stay long."
"You will write to me?"
"Yes."
People were now entering the square from the other side. The window-sillwas between them; he took her hands, drew her forward from the shadow,and looked at her in the dim light from the street lamp.
"It is my last look, Anne," he said, sadly.
"It need not be."
"Yes; you have chosen. You are sure that there is nothing more that Ican do?"
"There is one thing."
"What is it?"
"Believe him innocent. Believe it, not for my sake, but for your own."
"If I try, it will be for yours. Good-by."
He left her, and an hour later was on his way back to his post at thecapital of his State. He was needed there; an accumulation ofresponsibilities awaited him. For that State owed the excellence of itswar record, its finely equipped regiments, well-supplied hospitals, andprompt efficiency in all departments of public business throughout thosefour years, principally to the brain and force of one man--GregoryDexter.
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