“What this extraordinary young gentleman _believes_ is of no consequence to us, your honor. Let him appear for the prisoner—if the prisoner wishes to have it so. I should consider it extra hazardous. The constitution countenances this sort of aberration, however, so I suppose we must suffer it—though the case is at an end.” The district attorney calculates that he will be a half-hour late at the links. The court nods his assent, and takes up the fascinating menu which has been sent over to him from the Union League, to whet his appetite upon. He will dine there to-night with the witty Grover Club. The young lawyer has addressed a few words to the prisoner and has taken his hand. Instantly the inert head rises. The fires of life and hope once more light the eyes for an instant. His tongue is loosed. He is the Viking again—the lion at bay. The young lawyer assures him with the overconfidence of youth that all will be well. That they have proved nothing. At once the eyes are dull again, the head droops as before. “Ah, they! It is the doom of God. They are only instruments of God. I do not hate them. I hate them no more than I should hate the axe of the executioner. Last night—and, yea, for many nights I saw Estan, the priest. I heard him say again: ‘I do fear the things that will come upon thee and our land!’ Go! It is the doom of God!” At this moment the district attorney, seeing his time for golf being dissipated, says to the court: “If your honor pleases, unless the defence is ready to proceed at once, I shall ask your honor to give the case to the jury on its default.” Forrest takes his place. “I recall all the witnesses for the Commonwealth for cross-examination,” says the young lawyer to the court. “Object!” shouts the district attorney, on his feet at once. “The prisoner failed to take advantage of this right when it was offered to him and his counsel sat idly by. It is too late now. I won’t try the case all over again.” “I think,” says the smiling court, “that I shall permit this. It is not your right, sir,”—to the counsel for the prisoner—“but the easiest way is the best, in law as well as—elsewhere.” He smiles down upon the district attorney, as if he were saying: “You will get your game the sooner, I will get my dinner hot.” “Proceed!” is all the officer of the Commonwealth has to say. It is the young counsel’s first examination of a witness. “Officer Gorman,” he says, with a child’s savagery, “yi—you were here—bif—before?” “Sure!” answers the officer, with a grin, and now the gentlemen of the bar laugh with the benchers, and even the court lays down the gilt menu and smiles broadly. But, these things are good. They crowd upon the young champion of the prisoner a tremendous sense of the responsibility he has assumed. He addresses the court foolishly but seriously: