He began his summing-up by speaking of the unusual way in which the trial had been conducted. The prisoner had elected to be his own advocate, and that, as a consequence, he, the judge, had not been so particular about formalities as he would have been under different circumstances. He had allowed matters to be introduced in the cross-examination which were not strictly evidence. He also referred in high terms to the prisoner's defence. He spoke of him as a man of more than ordinary intellectual ability, who, with the gift of an orator, had played upon the various emotions of the jury as a clever musician plays with an instrument of which he is a master. And then, little by little, he went back to what he called "the cold hard facts of the case." From the pure lawyer's standpoint, his summing-up was perhaps just, but from the standpoint of the prisoner it was deadly. With a cleverness of which Paul did not believe anyone capable, he wore away the effect of what he had said, until, as it seemed to him, his speech seemed to be like that of another counsel for the prosecution. And yet, as I said, no one could accuse him of being unfair. He admitted the responsibility of the jury, spoke of the tremendous Issues at stake, and seemed desirous of guiding them into right paths. For nearly an hour he spoke, and then, amidst an excitement which was painful in the extreme, the jury went away to consider their verdict. Minute after minute passed away, while everyone waited in painful suspense for the jurymen to return. The old feeling of uncertainty had come back to the spectators, the barristers, who had been so eagerly listening to the case, discussed in whispers what the probable result would be, and more than one woman had to be carried out of the court in a state of collapse. Men sat with hard, set faces, scarcely daring to move. How long they were away I do not know, but it seemed to all present like an eternity. Presently the foreman of the jury appeared, and the judge returned to his chair. "Gentlemen, are you agreed as to the verdict?" "No, we are not agreed." It was as though a mighty sob arose from the throats of all present. The judge, who wore an uneasy look as he reentered the court, seemed perturbed. A look of eager expectation was on the faces of the barristers. As for Paul, he became instinct with new life. His case was not hopeless--they were not agreed. The fiendishly clever speech of Mr. Bakewell and the deadly summing-up of the judge had not secured a verdict of guilty. He felt almost like a conqueror. Hope was in his heart. He would live even yet. The judge looked at his watch, as if in doubt what to do, but it was evident that he quickly made up his mind. CHAPTER XXVII THE VERDICT "If you will tell me the points on which you are disagreed," said the judge at length, "I may be able to throw some light upon them, and also, perhaps, advise you."