Larkin’s head dropped and his keen eyes furtively sought the door. “Who gave you that knife?” A moment of breathless suspense rippled the crowded court room and every head was bent forward. “Mr. Larkin gimme de knife! We’se been powful good friends, sah. I show him de under-groun’ way fum de tomb inter de house. I’se de only black man dat know it--my daddy help dig it--yassah. Mr. Larkin de fust man I ebber tell dat I know ’bout it. He say he want ter beat de Ku Kluxes. He say he make’em smoke dat night, an’ he git eight men an’ dress up jes lak ‘em, an’ I show him de way ter git in froo de panel in de hall. He fool me. I didn’t know he gwine ter kill de jedge, sah, er I wouldn’t er let ’em in, nosah. I doan’ believe in killin’ nobody. He tell me ter git outen de county an’ I stay till de soldiers come back. Yassah, an’ dat’s de whole troof!” Ackerman motioned the sergeant, a pair of handcuffs clicked on Larkin’s wrists, and the great white head sank on his breast. Stella gazed at his pathetic figure with a strange feeling of pity and wonder, while her hand sought John Graham’s and pressed it tenderly. The count of murder was dropped, but the charge of conspiracy was pressed with merciless ferocity. A procession of hired liars ascended the witness stand and in rapid succession perjured themselves by swearing that they had recognised the prisoner on various raids made by the Klan in the county. The jury was out fifteen minutes. When they returned John Graham, in whose veins flowed the blood of a race of world-conquering men, entitled to a trial by a jury of his peers, rose with quiet dignity and heard the verdict of his condemnation fall from the thick protruding lips of a flat-nosed Negro: “We finds de prisoner guilty!” “So say you all gentlemen?” asked the clerk. And in response each black spindle-shanked juror shambled to his feet and answered: “Guilty!” The last name called was the little white Scalawag’s, whose weak voice squeaked an echo: “Guilty.” The Judge imposed a fine of one thousand dollars and sentenced John Graham to five years imprisonment at hard labour in the United States penitentiary at Albany, New York. A low moan from Stella, and her head sank in voiceless anguish. To the brave and the proud there are visions darker than death. John Graham saw this as he was led from the court room back to jail--the vision of the hideous leprous shame of a convict’s suit of stripes! CHAPTER VIII--THE MINISTRY OF ANGELS EVERY delicacy which love could devise and her money buy Stella lavished on John and his friends. Each day added to the list of men who returned to jail condemned to the infamy of a convict’s pen at Albany.