There was not much heart in the prosecution, and the opening of the prosecuting attorney showed it. He told what he expected to prove, but indulged in no bursts of eloquence or sarcasm such as frequently mark the openings of similar trials. The jury, drawn with great difficulty, listened rather apathetically, and the audience impatiently, and Paul scarcely at all at first. He was looking at Elithe, trying to get a glimpse of her face, thinking again of the band around her head and wondering if it were as wide and hot as the one round his, benumbing him so that, for a second time, he did not realize where he was or why he was there, until Sherry came rushing in. Generally, he staid quietly with the horses, and he had kept near them now for a while. Then, as if scenting danger to his master, he went to the Court House, pushed his way into the room, looked around for an instant until he saw Paul. With a bound, he was at his side, uttering cries more like human sounds than those of a canine, as he again put his paws on Paul’s shoulders and looked in his face. There was a stir among the people, which Sherry evidently did not like, for he turned his head from side to side in a threatening kind of way. “Somebody remove that dog,” the judge said, sternly,—a command more easily given than obeyed. Sherry refused to be removed and growled savagely at the attendant who tried to get him out. He took his paws from Paul’s neck, and, stretching himself at full length upon the floor, looked as if he meant to stay there. “Quiet, Sherry!” Paul said, in a low tone, as the dog continued to growl and show his teeth. In an instant Sherry was quiet and dropped his head between his paws. There was a brief consultation between judge and attorney, with the result that Sherry was permitted to remain as long as he behaved. He seemed to understand the decision, and, with one loud whack of his tail and one uplifting of his eyes to Paul, lay perfectly still while the trial progressed.