The old man, attired in a light gray summer suit with a white waistcoat and a broad straw hat, looked like the personification of an untroubled conscience. He held out a friendly hand. “How are you, William? I came down to”--he hesitated and smiled gravely--“to give your father and Leigh my moral support. Can’t seem to do anything else, can I? Anything for you?” he added, after a moment’s farther hesitation. William shook his head, turning a deep red. “I ought to be in Leigh’s place,” he said chokingly, “but I’m worse off.” The colonel gave him a keen look. It was impossible not to see that the young man’s position was heartrending, and he pitied him. At the same time he still felt a righteous indignation against Fanchon’s husband. “By gum, it serves him right,” he thought. Then he was so ashamed of himself that he shook hands with William again. There didn’t seem to be anything else to do. “I’ll go and sit by your father--if I can get there,” he said kindly. “I hope your mother’s better. Bearing up, eh?” “She’s better,” said William thickly, averting his eyes. “It’s intolerable to me, Colonel Denbigh, that she should have to suffer so about Leigh on my account. If the boy had only come straight to me!” he added with suppressed passion, his lip quivering suddenly like a woman’s on the verge of tears. The colonel nodded his head thoughtfully. “I know--but it’s spilt milk, William. We’ll hope for the best. They tell me Dan’s a smart fellow. Going to be the best lawyer in this town, Judge Jessup says. He’ll get his brother off.” “That won’t save my face,” William replied bitterly, plunging abruptly down the steps and out into the quadrangle. The colonel, left alone, stood a moment looking after him, considering him. Come to look at it, he thought, it was a pretty bad place--even for a lummox. He had always thought well of William, he had once imagined him as the possible husband of Virginia, but now---- The colonel tugged at his white mustache with a grim face. He was thinking of Virginia’s face on the stairs, the soft sadness of that profile. “It can’t be that Jinny cares!” he cried indignantly under his breath. Then, unable to endure the idea, he swung open the baize doors and worked his way into the crowded court-room. There was a little stir in it now, an air of relief. The twelfth juror had just been accepted. XXIII THE trial dragged its way through the rest of the afternoon and all the next day, the colonel sitting dutifully beside his good friend, Johnson Carter. The old man leaned forward on his cane, an interested spectator, hoping in his heart that he was thus killing off any gossip about that old attachment between William Carter and his granddaughter. It was from him that Virginia got her news of the proceedings, and an account of Daniel as a lawyer.