The court was to be in session very soon after Paul’s return to prison, and, if the excitement was great before, it was greater now, with a desire to see again the man who had voluntarily given himself up, and to see Elithe, whose part in his escape had become known and was commented upon differently by different people. Some called her bold,—some plucky,—some that she did it to atone for her damaging testimony, and others that she was in love with Paul, and this had influenced her actions. Through whatever lens she was looked at, she was an object of great interest, and the people were eager to know if she would tell exactly the same story as before, and if Miss Hansford would treat them to a circus similar to the one at the first trial. Neither she nor Elithe shrank from meeting people, and the latter was quite ready to talk of Paul’s escape, keeping her own part in it in the background as much as possible, and dwelling upon Tom’s bravery and devotion. She was doing all she could for him by way of enlisting public opinion in his behalf. He tried to be cheerful and natural, but sometimes failed utterly, and there was a look on his face different from anything seen there before Paul’s second arrest. “I ain’t going back on my word. I couldn’t, if I wanted to, with you and Miss Hansford both knowing it,” he said to Elithe; “but you can’t guess how homesick I am when I look round on the places I like so well and think how soon I’ll be shut away from them all.” It was Elithe’s mission to comfort him just as he had comforted and encouraged Paul. The court would be very lenient, she said, and, possibly, take no action at all. “I don’t know. I’ve been so cowardly mean that I ought to have a few years, any way,” Tom would say, wishing the time would come, and when it did, feeling tempted to drown himself and leave the clearing up to Miss Hansford and Elithe. “I could make my confession and leave it in my room,” he thought, as he busied himself with his usual duties before starting for the Court House. It was a lovely November morning, warm and bright, with the Indian summer brightness, and as he looked out upon the water, smooth as glass, with white sails here and there and a big steamer passing in the distance, he changed his mind with regard to the confession and drowning. “No, by jing!” he said; “this world’s too good to leave that way. A few years will soon pass and I know the Ralstons will take me back. I’ll face it. Hello, Sherry! you here? Why ain’t you at the jail?” he continued, as the dog came bounding towards him. Contrary to his custom, Sherry had not started on his usual walk that morning. Possibly, his instinct told him there was something amiss with Tom, who had some difficulty in shaking him off while he harnessed the horses, which were to take the judge to the Court House. Mrs. Ralston was too ill to go. “Tell Paul I shall pray for him every moment,” she said to her husband when he left her.