That same glow, as of profound inward happiness, was upon her countenance the next day as she sat in the court room. On one side of her was her father and on the other sat Rachel Benedict, with wrinkled hands primly folded in the lap of her plain gray gown, her kindly, bright old eyes and sweet smile bent now and then upon her young friend as she whispered some encouraging word. Behind her were Mrs. Hardaker and Marcia Kimball and other friends from the Hillside Female Anti-Slavery Society. In the back of the room, throughout the trial, sat Jefferson Delavan. He was always in his place in the same seat, when she entered, and their eyes would meet once and a faint smile play around her lips for an instant. Then she would not look again in his direction, but her face kept always its glow of inward happiness. Horace Hardaker sat with his gaze moodily fixed upon Delavan’s dark head. Jeff’s eyes were upon Rhoda’s face and Hardaker felt resentfully that within their depths must lie some hint of the lover’s yearning. It was almost time for him to begin his address. But his thoughts were not upon what he was about to say nor upon how he could most move the jury. Instead they were busy, with indignant wonder, upon how “that damned slaveholder” had contrived to win the rich and undying love of such a girl as Rhoda Ware. For the way of a man with a maid is always a sealed book to other men. A woman can guess, or she knows instinctively, how and why another woman has won a man’s love. But the side of a man’s nature with which he does his wooing is so different from any manifestation of himself that he makes among his fellows that to them it is an unknown land. Therefore they are inclined to be skeptical as to its attractiveness. But Hardaker was much more than skeptical. He was irritated, and even angry, that “such a man as that” should have dared to think himself worthy of Rhoda’s love. And when he presently rose to address the jury the rankling in his heart lent sharper vigor to every thrust he made against the slave power and put into his tones a savage indignation as, with eyes fixed upon Delavan’s face, he thundered his indictments. An audience of character and intelligence crowded the court room to the doors, while outside, in the hall and around the windows people stood on benches, listening intently, for hours at a time. From all over the county, from surrounding counties, and from as far away as Cleveland, men of substance and of prominence had left their homes and business and journeyed hither to listen to the proceedings and to testify by their presence their sympathy with the defense. But the pro-slavery side also had its representatives, although in the minority, who were of equal consequence and standing. It was such an audience as would gratify any attorney, wishing to influence the community as well as the jury.