But no words coming, a change passes like a stroke of lightning
over the surging mass. Some one shouts out COWARD! another,
TRAITOR! and the lifted head falls, the moving lips cease from
their efforts and in place of the great personality which filled
their eyes a moment before, they see a man entrapped, waking to
the horror of a sudden death in life for which no visions of the
day, no dreams of the night, had been able to prepare him.
It was a sight to waken pity not derision. But these people had
gathered here in a bitter mood and their rancour had but scented
the prey. Calls of "Oliver!" and such threats as "You saved him at
a poor man's expense, but we'll have him yet, we'll have him yet!"
began to rise about him; followed by endless repetitions of the
name from near and far: "Oliver! Oliver!"
Oliver! His own lips seemed to re-echo the word. Then like a lion
baited beyond his patience the judge lifted his head and faced
them all with a fiery intensity which for the moment made him a
terrible figure to contemplate.
"Let no one utter that name to me here!" shot from his lips in
tones of unspeakable menace and power. "Spare me that name, or the
curse of my ruined life be upon you. I can bear no more to-day."
Thrilled by his aspect, cowering under his denunciation,
emphasised as it was by a terrifying gesture, the people, pressing
closest about him, drew back and left the passage open to the
gate. He took it with a bound, and would have entered but that
from the outskirts of the crowd where his voice had not reached,
the cry arose again of "Oliver! Oliver! The sons of the rich go
free, but ours have to hang!"
At which he turned his head about, gave them one stare and fell
back against the door.
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