Meanwhile, the strain upon Elliott Harding was telling. He walked erect with an effort and spent much of the time alone in his office, with his head bowed upon the desk, moaning in unutterable anguish. His suffering had drained his very soul--he could weep no more. Since the tragedy, every hour, every day had been a lifetime of misery. Fate had employed his bravest deeds for the breaking of his stout heart. Unheld, unhindered, he had long chosen his road but now he was grasped with sovereign indifference while there was brought upon him punishment for the insufferable egotism of his stubborn contentions. This was the bitterest cup he was ever called upon to drain, and he was never the same after draining it. He was experiencing perhaps what the earth experiences when it is furrowed with the share that the grain may be sown; it feels the wound alone, the thrill of the germ and the joy of the fruit are not yet come to comfort it. Mr. Carr was rapidly growing feeble. He was quite shut in. But with every fiber of the Carr endurance, he clung to life, with every desire intensified into the longing to live until the murderer’s trial was ended. On this night he sat in a large wooden rocker near the window, with a pillow at his shoulders. His pathetic figure, with its long attenuated frame, testified to his rapid decline. The soft south wind waved the white locks fringing his temples. One shaking hand lay helplessly on the arm of the chair, the other held loose grasp of a remotely-dated family monthly. His gray eyes, bright and clear in spite of their fine, crape-like setting of wrinkles, were absently turned to the sky. They kindled as Elliott laid a hand gently upon his shoulder. “How is my dear father by now?” “Pretty well,” he answered faintly--his old reply. “That’s good!” and Elliott tried to smile as he sank wearily into a chair. Mr. Carr, noticing how thinly his lips fitted about his white, even teeth, asked, “What have they done to my boy?” “Done enough, father,” said Elliot, starting up and revealing his haggard, agitated face. “They have postponed the trial.” CHAPTER XXI. The coming of October brought the next term of court. What seemed an age had at last terminated and Ephriam Cooley was again brought to trial. His removal from the prison to the courthouse was without incident. The prisoner was guarded in the most thorough manner against possible molestation. The regular police guards were reinforced by deputies sworn in by the sheriff, and the vicinity of the court had, in consequence, the appearance of an armed camp. Police were stationed at every approach as well as in the hall and every preparation had been made to quell instantly any attempt at lawless interference with the ordinary course of law. When the doors opened, the waiting crowd was allowed to enter and in a few minutes all the available space within the courtroom was densely packed. The judge took his seat.