“Then, your Honor, I object!” shouted the indignant Coad. Judge Hollis turned to speak. “The objection is sustained,” said the court. The old lawyer for the defense turned purple again, and flashed a furious glance at Dr. Cheyney. The doctor smiled, his face puckering. The tense excitement and curiosity in the room found utterance in a sigh of disappointment. Judge Hollis slammed his papers on his desk and turned the witness over to the prosecution. Colonel Coad did not press the examination, and the old doctor went calmly back to his seat with his secret untold. Hollis turned to the court. “Your Honor, I waive the right to sum up, and rest the case for the defense.” An hour later Colonel Coad had closed for the prosecution and Judge Ladd charged the jury. There had been no recess, and the crowded room was packed to suffocation. Everywhere were faces, white, haggard, intent with excitement, and the labored breathing of men who hung upon a word. A thunderstorm was coming on, and now and then a vivid flash flooded the room with light. At half-past eight Judge Ladd gave the case to the jury. The foreman rose and stated that the jury had reached a verdict without leaving the box. There was an intense moment, and then Judge Ladd spoke slowly. “Have you agreed upon a verdict?” “We have, your Honor.” “Is the prisoner at the bar guilty, or not guilty, as charged in the indictment?” “Not guilty.” The wave of passion and excitement broke, the court-room rose as one man; the shout was heard ten squares away, and the echo reached the farthest corner of the city. The bailiffs fought and struggled to keep order, for men would have carried the prisoner on their shoulders. He was the only one unmoved. He stood like a rock amid the surging crowd, and it seemed to Diana that he towered, with a certain simplicity and strength that made him seem at once apart from other men and above them. In her heart she wondered at her own temerity, when she had treated him with discourtesy. Here was a primitive man, and the primitive strength, the righteous force in him, held other men, as that strange gift of magnetism that wields and binds and moves millions till they seem but one. She turned away, holding tightly to her father’s arm, eager to escape, and begrudging the slow and tortuous passage to the door. Behind her and before her, on every hand, from lip to lip, ran the prisoner’s name. The colonel almost lifted Diana from the crowd into the carriage. Then he took his seat beside her and closed the door; slowly the horses made their way through the throng in the quadrangle. It was raining hard, and the wind blew the moisture across their heated faces. “By gum!” said Colonel Royall, “they’ll make him governor! But Jacob Eaton--Jacob Eaton!” The old man was bewildered; he passed his hand over his face. Diana said nothing; the night blurred itself into the rain. XXV