"
In five minutes more she had said good-bye to Miss Weeks and was
on her way to the courthouse.
This building occupied one end of a large paved square in the
busiest part of the town. As Deborah approached it, she was still
further alarmed by finding this square full of people, standing in
groups or walking impatiently up and down with their eyes fixed on
the courthouse doors. The case which had agitated the whole
country for days was now in the hands of the jury and a verdict
was momentarily expected.
So much for appearances outside. Within, there was the uneasy hum,
the anxious look, the subdued movement which marks an universal
suspense. Announcement had been made that the jury had reached
their verdict, and counsel were resuming their places and the
judge his seat.
Those who had eyes only for the latter--and these were many--
noticed a change in him. He looked older by years than when he
delivered his charge. Not the prisoner himself gave greater
evidence of the effect which this hour of waiting had had upon a
heart whose covered griefs were, consciously or unconsciously,
revealing themselves to the public eye. He did not wish this man
sentenced. This was shown by his charge--the most one-sided one he
had given in all his career. Yet the man awaiting verdict had
small claim to his consideration--none, in fact, save that he was
young and well connected; facts in his favour with which the
people who packed the courthouse that day had little sympathy, as
their cold looks proved.
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