It was a kind Providence which kept Paul in his numb and dazed condition and made him eat the supper Mrs. Stevens brought him with a keen relish, and afterwards wrapped him in a sleep so profound that he did not waken until the jailer knocked at his door and told him his breakfast was waiting. He had fallen asleep the moment his head touched the pillow, his last thought a confused one of the man they were trying and in whose fate he was interested. He was not that man when he went to sleep; he was Paul Ralston, the people’s favorite,—Clarice Percy’s affianced husband, and, if he dreamed at all, it was of the bridal festivities, commenced on so gigantic a scale. When he awoke, refreshed by his long sleep, the pain was gone from his head, leaving him only a little dizzy, but with full knowledge of what lay before him and who he was. He was Paul Ralston still, but a prisoner charged with killing Jack Percy,—the man they had sworn against the day before, and against whom Elithe was to swear to-day. His breakfast went away untouched, and his stoop was more perceptible, his eyes more hollow, and his face whiter when he was driven again through the crowded streets and saw the people hurrying to the Court House, some with lunch-boxes and baskets, showing that they meant to sit through the recess and not run the risk of losing their seats if they were so fortunate as to get one. Again the house was packed. Again the twelve jurors were in their places, with the judge and attorneys, those for the defense and those for the prosecution, with the prosecuting attorney bustling about, nervous and excited, and speaking once to Miss Hansford, who scowled at him with a look through her “near-see-ers,” worn on the end of her nose, not very re-assuring. She had never had a great deal of respect for him, and had less now, when he was arrayed against Paul Ralston, with a right to ask her whatever he chose. He knew this and had confessed himself a little afraid to tackle the old lady, and so had thought to conciliate her by asking her advice on some minor point. He might as well have tried to conciliate a mad dog, and he gave her up hopelessly. Everything was now ready. Judge Ralston was there, leaning heavily on his gold-headed cane, with his wife leaning on him. Elithe was in her place, with the blue veil over her face and shaking in every limb, for now the worst was coming and there were so many looking on,—not at her then, but at Paul, who was taking his seat, followed by Sherry, who stretched himself upon the floor as he had done the previous day. With his appearance and Paul’s, the hum of voices ceased and a great hush pervaded the room until Miss Phebe Hansford was called. “Oh, my Lord!” she was heard to ejaculate as she rose in response to the call; then, in a loud whisper, “Let go my dress,” to Elithe, who had unconsciously been holding to her skirt as a kind of safeguard and defense.