Nevertheless, he felt that he was behaving in a silly, amateurish manner, falling in love with her like this. It was to be expected of ignorant, common louts such as No. 7--a very ordinary jackass!--and the other ten men in the box, to say nothing of the suddenly adolescent yet middle-aged horde outside. It was just the sort of thing that they would be certain to do. They were a fatuous--but there he stopped, scowling within himself. What right had he to call these other men fools? He was no better than they. Indeed, he was worse, for he always had believed himself to be supremely above such nonsense as this. They made no pretentions. They fell in love with her just as they would have fallen in love with any pretty girl--and, Heaven knows, pretty girls are always being fallen in love with. But that he, the unimpressionable, experienced Sampson, should lose his heart--and head--over a girl who had never spoken a word to him, whom he had never seen until six days before, and who doubtless would go out of his life completely the instant the trial was over--why, it ought to have been excruciatingly funny. But it wasn't funny. It was very far from funny. Putting one's self in a class with No. 7 and No. 12 and the rest of them was certainly not Sampson's idea of something to laugh at. So he scowled ominously every time he chanced to think of any one of them--which happened only when Miss Hildebrand deigned to look at that particular individual. And he would have to send her beloved grandfather to the penitentiary. He would have to hurt her; he would have to bring pain and despair and, worse than these, astonishment to her beautiful eyes. He knew that he would be haunted for the rest of his life by the look she would give him when the verdict was announced. James Hildebrand went _on_ the stand on the afternoon of the sixth day. A curious hush settled over the court-room. Men shifted in their chairs and then slumped down dejectedly, as if oppressed by the utter futility of the tale he would have to tell. Alexandra Hildebrand alone was bright-eyed and eager. Her lips were slightly parted as the old man, grey and erect, took the oath. She knew that the truth and nothing but the truth could fall from the lips of this gentle old grandfather of hers. Now they would have the truth! Now the case would crumble! She sent one swift, reassuring look through the jury box, and, for the first time, gazed into no man's eyes. She was puzzled. Every face was averted. Long afterwards she may have recalled the queer little chill that entered her heart, and stayed there for the briefest instant before passing. [Illustration: 0081] The defendant's voice was low, well-modulated, unemotional; his manner simple and yet impressive. Throughout the entire story that he told, his hearers listened with rapt attention. She sent one swift, reassuring look through the jury box.