"
Swaying yet in body and mind, quite unable in the turmoil of her
spirits to reconcile this strong and steady man with the crushed
and despairing figure she had so lately beheld shrinking under the
insults of the crowd, Deborah was glad to sit silent under this
open rebuke and listen to Reuther's ingenuous declarations, though
she knew that they brought no conviction and distilled no real
comfort either to his mind or hers.
"Yes, mother darling," the young girl was saying. "These people
have not seen Oliver in years, but we have, and nothing they can
say, nothing that any one can say but himself could ever shake my
belief in him as a man incapable of a really wicked act. He might
be capable of striking a sudden blow--most men are under great
provocation--but to conceal such a fact,--to live for years
enjoying the respect of all who knew him, with the knowledge
festering in his heart of another having suffered for his crime--
that, THAT would be impossible to Oliver Ostrander."
Some words ring in the heart long after their echo has left the
ear. IMPOSSIBLE! Deborah stole a look at the judge. But he was
gazing at Reuther, where he well might gaze, if his sinking heart
craved support or his abashed mind sought to lose itself in the
enthusiasm of this pure soul, with its loving, uncalculating
instincts.
"Am I not right, mother?"
Ah! must she answer that?
"Tell the judge who is as confident of Oliver as I am myself that
you are confident, too.
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