Those who had never seen her before thought how small and young and pretty she was in spite of her pale cheeks and tired eyes telling of tears and sleepless nights. Paul had smiled more than once at Miss Hansford’s defiance of all law and order, but his face changed and seemed to contract and shrivel up as he looked at Elithe and leaned forward to listen. It was not resentment he felt that she was testifying against him, but an intense pity that she had to do it and a wish that he could save her from it. How sweet and modest she looked, standing there with downcast eyes and hands grasping the chair against which she leaned for support and how her voice shook when she began to speak. All this Paul noted, and for a time the feeling of yesterday came back and he forgot his own identity again. _He_ was not the prisoner being tried for his life. That was one of the detestable men drinking in Elithe’s beauty, remarking every curve of her girlish figure, every turn of her graceful head. He, Paul, was only a spectator, watching Elithe,—wishing he could reassure her,—could tell her to speak louder so that all could hear. At last she looked at him with such anguish and entreaty in her eyes that he smiled his old-time smile she knew so well and which acted like a tonic upon her nerves and loosened the band around her forehead. He did not hate her; he did not blame her; he had no fear of what she might say. Something had come up of which she had not heard and which would be explained when she was through. He was safe no matter what she said. She had sworn to tell the truth, and she must do it. The mass of faces in front of her didn’t trouble her now. God had helped Paul and was helping her with courage and strength. Drawing herself up from the drooping attitude she had assumed, she answered the questions put to her, telling where she was when she saw and spoke to Paul and saying she could not be mistaken in him when she saw him fire the shot and throw the revolver away. His face was partly turned from her, but she knew his figure and his coat,—a light gray,—and his hat. He fired low, and when he heard the groan, as he must have heard it, he hurried off into the woods towards the west, and a few minutes later they found Mr. Percy lying behind the clump of bushes at which Paul had aimed. This was the substance of her testimony, and while she gave it scarcely a sound was heard in the room, so intense was the interest with which the people listened. Even the fans and hats and papers were motionless, although the heat grew more intense as the sun poured in at the western windows, and not a leaf stirred on the trees outside, or scarcely a ripple on the water. She had kept her eyes on Paul, who listened, fascinated and bewildered, and still with a feeling that it was not himself she was talking about.