could by no possibility be reproduced even though Quinn made every effort to be honest. And how much greater the impossibility when Quinn was willing to be disingenuous, to allow the prejudices and the passions of his hearers to reflect on his words their own sentiments, so that the hatred in the hearts of this this jury, these prosecutors, might seem to be a hatred, instead, in Archie’s breast! Realizing the impossibility, Marriott felt again the strong, occult influences that opposed him, and had scarcely the strength to cross-examine Quinn. And yet he must make the effort, and for two long hours he battled with Quinn, set his wits and his will against him, but it was all hopeless. For he was not opposing Quinn’s mind alone, he was opposing the collective mind of this crowd behind him, and that larger crowd in the city outside. "Anything further, Mr. Marriott?" asked Glassford. Marriott had a momentary rage at this impersonation of the vengeful state sitting before him, and exclaimed with disgust: "Oh, I guess not." XVI The instant Marriott entered the court-house the next morning he was sensible of a change; it was as palpable as the heavy, overheated atmosphere indoors after the cool air outdoors. He could not account for this change; he knew only that it had come in the night, and that it boded some calamity in the world. Already it seemed to have had its effect on the men he met, clerks, attachés, and loafers; they glanced at him stealthily, then averted their eyes quickly. Somehow they filled Marriott with loathing and disgust. As he went up in the swiftly-ascending elevator, the old man who operated it gave him that same look, and then observed: "Something’s in the air to-day." Yes, thought Marriott, something is in the air. But what? "I reckon it’s going to storm," the white-headed veteran of the great war went on. "My rheumatiz hurts like hell this morning." What mysterious relation was it, wondered Marriott, that bound this old man through his joints--gnarled by the exposure of his service to his country so long before--to all nature, foretelling her convulsions and cataclysms? What mysterious relation was it that bound men’s minds to the moral world, foretelling as well its catastrophes and tragedies? "I reckon it’s the January thaw," the old fellow jabbered on, his mind never rising above the mere physical manifestations of nature. The crowd was denser than ever, and there in the front row, where she had been every day of the trial, was old Mrs. Koerner, with eyes that every day grew deeper and wider, as more and more tragedy was reflected in their profound and mysterious depths. "Call Henry Griscom," said Eades. The crowd, the jury, the lawyers, waited. Marriott wondered; he felt Archie’s breath in his ear and heard his teeth chatter as he whispered: "I knew old Jimmy Ball had something framed up. Great God!"