About this time, the restless pacing of the judge in his study at nights became more frequent and lasted longer. In vain Reuther played her most cheerful airs and sang her sweetest songs, the monotonous1 tramp kept up with a regularity2 nothing could break.
“He’s worried by the big case now being tried before him,” Deborah would say, when Reuther’s eyes grew wide and misty3 in her sympathetic trouble. And there was no improbability in the plea, for it was a case of much moment, and of great local interest. A man was on trial for his life and the circumstances of the case were such that the feeling called forth4 was unusually bitter; so much so, indeed, that every word uttered by the counsel and every decision made by the judge were discussed from one end of the county to the other, and in Shelby, if nowhere else, took precedence of all other topics, though it was a Presidential year and party sympathies ran high.
The more thoughtful spirits were inclined to believe in the innocence5 of the prisoner; but the lower elements of the town, moved by class prejudice, were bitterly antagonistic6 to his cause and loud for his conviction.
Did the judge realise his position and the effect made upon the populace by his very evident leaning towards this dissipated but well-connected young man accused of a crime so brutal7, that he must either have been the sport of most malicious8 circumstances, or a degenerate9 of the worst type. The time of Judge Ostrander’s office was nearly up, and his future continuance on the bench might very easily depend upon his attitude at the present hearing. Yet HE, without apparent recognition of this fact, showed without any hesitancy or possibly without self-consciousness, the sympathy he felt for the man at the bar, and ruled accordingly almost without variation.
No wonder he paced the floor as the proceedings10 drew towards its close and the inevitable11 hour approached when a verdict must be rendered. Mrs. Scoville, reading his heart by the light of her recent discoveries, understood as nobody else, the workings of his conscience and the passion of sympathy which this unhappy father must have for misguided youth. She began to fear for his health and count the days till this ordeal12 was over.
In other regards, quiet had come to them all and less tempestuous13 fears. Could the judge but weather the possible conviction of this man and restrain himself from a disclosure of his own suffering, more cheerful days might be in store for them, for no further missives were to be seen on the lawn, nor had anything occurred for days to recall to Deborah’s mind the move she had made towards re-establishing her husband’s innocence.
A week passed, and the community was all agog14, in anticipation15 of the judge’s charge in the case just mentioned. It was to be given at noon, and Mrs. Scoville, conscious that he had not slept an hour the night before (having crept down more than once to listen if his step had ceased), approached him as he prepared to leave the house for the court room, and anxiously asked if he were quite well.
“Oh, yes, I’m well,” he responded sharply, looking about for Reuther.
The young girl was standing16 a little behind him, with his gloves in her hand — a custom she had fallen into in her desire to have his last look and fond good morning.
“Come here, child,” said he, in a way to make her heart beat; and, as he took the gloves from her hand, he stooped and kissed her on the forehead — something he had never done before. “Let me see you smile,” said he. “It’s a memory I like to take with me into the court room.”
But when in her pure delight at his caress17 and the fatherly feeling which gave a tremor18 to his simple request, she lifted her face with that angelic look of hers which was far sweeter and far more moving than any smile, he turned away abruptly19 as though he had been more hurt than comforted, and strode out of the house without another word.
Deborah’s hand went to her heart, in the dark corner whither she had withdrawn20 herself, and when she turned again towards the spot where Reuther had stood, it was in some fear lest she had betrayed her understanding of this deeply tried father’s passionate21 pain. But Reuther was no longer there. She had fled quickly away with the memory of what was to make this day a less dreary22 one for her.
Morning passed and the noon came, bringing Deborah an increased uneasiness. When lunch was over and Reuther sat down to her piano, the feeling had grown into an obsession23, which soon resolved itself into a definite fear.
“What if an attack, such as I once saw, should come upon him while he sits upon the bench! Why have I not thought of this before? O God! these evil days! When will they be over!”
She found herself so restless that she decided24 upon going out. Donning her quietest gown and veil, she looked in on Reuther and expressed her intention; then slipped out of the front door, hardly knowing whither her feet would carry her.
They did not carry her far,— not at this moment at least. On the walk outside she met Miss Weeks hurrying towards her from the corner, stumbling in her excitement and so weakened in body or spirit that she caught at the unresponsive fence for the support which its smooth surface refused to give her.
At sight of Deborah’s figure, she paused and threw up her hands.
“Oh, Mrs. Scoville, such a dreadful thing!” she cried. “Look here!” And, opening one of her hands, she showed a few torn scraps25 of paper whose familiarity made Deborah’s blood run cold.
“On the bridge,” gasped26 the little lady, leaning against the fence for support. “Pasted on the railing of the bridge. I should never have seen it, nor looked at it, if it hadn’t been that I—”
“Don’t tell me here,” urged Deborah. “Let’s go over to your house. See, there are people coming.”
The little lady yielded to the other’s constraining28 hand and together they crossed the street. Once in the house, Deborah allowed her full apprehension29 to show itself.
“What were the words? What was on the paper? Anything about —”
The little woman’s look of horror stopped her.
“It’s a lie, an awful, abominable30 lie. But think of such a lie being pasted up on that dreadful bridge for any one to see. After twelve years, Mrs. Scoville! After —” But here indignation changed suddenly into suspicion, and eyeing her visitor with sudden disfavour she cried: “This is your work, madam. Your inquiries31 and your talk of John Scoville’s innocence has set wagging all the villainous tongues in town. And I remember something else. How you came smirking32 into this very room one day, with your talk about caps and Oliver Ostrander’s doings on the day when Algernon Etheridge was murdered. You were in search of information, I see; information against the best, the brightest — Well, why don’t you speak? I’ll give you the chance if you want it. Don’t stand looking at me like that. I’m not used to it, Mrs. Scoville. I’m a peaceable woman and I’m not used to it.”
“Miss Weeks —” Ah, the oil of that golden speech on troubled waters! What was its charm? What message did it carry from Deborah’s warm, true heart that its influence should be so miraculous33? “Miss Weeks, you have forgotten my interest in Oliver Ostrander. He was my daughter’s lover. He was my own ideal of a gifted, kind-hearted, if somewhat mysterious, young man. No calumny34 uttered against him can awaken35 in you half the sorrow and indignation it does in me. Let me see those lines or what there is left of them so that I may share your feelings. They must be dreadful —”
“They are more than dreadful. I don’t know how I had strength to pull these pieces off. I couldn’t have done it if they had been quite dry. But what do you want to see them for? I’d have left them there if I had been willing to have them seen. They are for the kitchen fire. Wait a moment and then we will talk.”
But Deborah had no mind to let these pieces escape her eye. Sick as she felt at heart, she exerted herself to win the little woman’s confidence; and when Deborah exerted herself, even under such adverse36 conditions as these, she seldom failed to succeed.
Nor did she fail now. At the end of fifteen minutes she had the torn bits of paper arranged in their proper position and was reading these words:
The scene of Oliver’s crime.
Nothing could be more explicit37 nothing more damaging. As the glances of the two women met, it would be difficult to tell on which face Distress38 hung out the whiter flag.
“The beginning of the end!” was Deborah’s thought. “If after Mr. Black’s efforts, a charge like this is found posted up in the public ways, the ruin of the Ostranders is determined39 upon, and nothing we can do can stop it.”
In five minutes more she had said good-bye to Miss Weeks and was on her way to the courthouse.
This building occupied one end of a large paved square in the busiest part of the town. As Deborah approached it, she was still further alarmed by finding this square full of people, standing in groups or walking impatiently up and down with their eyes fixed40 on the courthouse doors. The case which had agitated41 the whole country for days was now in the hands of the jury and a verdict was momentarily expected.
So much for appearances outside. Within, there was the uneasy hum, the anxious look, the subdued42 movement which marks an universal suspense43. Announcement had been made that the jury had reached their verdict, and counsel were resuming their places and the judge his seat.
Those who had eyes only for the latter — and these were many — noticed a change in him. He looked older by years than when he delivered his charge. Not the prisoner himself gave greater evidence of the effect which this hour of waiting had had upon a heart whose covered griefs were, consciously or unconsciously, revealing themselves to the public eye. He did not wish this man sentenced. This was shown by his charge — the most one-sided one he had given in all his career. Yet the man awaiting verdict had small claim to his consideration — none, in fact, save that he was young and well connected; facts in his favour with which the people who packed the courthouse that day had little sympathy, as their cold looks proved.
To Deborah, who had succeeded in getting a seat in a remote and inconspicuous corner, these looks conveyed a spirit of so much threat that she gazed about her in wonder that so few saw where the real tragedy in this room lay.
But the jury is now seated, and the clatter44 of moving feet which but a moment before filled the great room, sinks as if under a charm, and silence, that awesome45 precursor46 of doom47, lay in all its weight upon every ear and heart, as the clerk advancing with the cry, “Order in the court,” put his momentous48 question:
“Gentlemen of the jury, are you ready with your verdict?”
A hush49!— then, the clear voice of the foreman:
“We are.”
“How do you find? Guilty or not guilty?”
Another hesitation50. Did the foreman feel the threat lurking51 in the air about him? If so, he failed to show it in his tones as he uttered the words which released the prisoner:
“NOT GUILTY.”
A growl52 from the crowd, almost like that of a beast stirring its lair53, then a quick cessation of all hubbub54 as every one turned to the judge to whose one-sided charge they attributed this release.
Again he was a changed man. With the delivery of this verdict he had regained55 his natural poise56, and never had he looked more authoritative57 or more pre-eminently the dominating spirit of the court than in the few following moments in which he expressed the thanks of the court to the jury and dismissed the prisoner. And yet, though each person there, from the disappointed prosecutor58 to the least aggressive spectator, appeared to feel the influence of a presence and voice difficult to duplicate on the bench of this country, Deborah experienced in her quiet corner no alleviation59 of the fear which had brought her into this forbidding spot and held her breathless through all these formalities.
For the end was not yet. Through all the turmoil60 of noisy departure and the drifting out into the square of a vast, dissatisfied throng61, she had caught the flash of a bit of paper (how introduced into this moving mass of people no one ever knew) passing from hand to hand, towards the solitary62 figure of the judge who had not as yet left his seat.
She knew — no one better — what this meant, and instinct bade her cry out and bid those thoughtless hands to cease their work and let this letter drop. But her discretion63 still held, and, subduing64 the mad impulse, she watched with dilating65 eyes and heaving breast the slow passage of this fatal note through the now rapidly thinning crowd, its delay as it reached the open space between the last row of seats and the judge’s bench and its final delivery by some officious hand, who thrust it upon his notice just as he was rising to leave.
The picture he made in that instant of hesitation never left her mind. To the end of her days she will carry a vision of his tall form, imposing66 in his judicial67 robes and with the majesty68 of his office still upon him, fingering this envelope in sight of such persons as still lingered in his part of the room. Nemesis69 was lowering its black wings over his devoted70 head, and, with feelings which left her dazed and transfixed in silent terror, Deborah saw his finger tear its way through the envelope and his eyes fall frowningly on the paper he drew out.
Then the People’s counsel and the counsel for the Defence and such clerks and hangers-on as still lingered in the upper end of the room experienced a decided sensation.
The judge, who a moment before had towered above them all in melancholy71 but impressive dignity, shrunk with one gasp27 into feebleness and sank back stricken, if not unconscious, into his chair.
Was it a stroke, or just one of his attacks of which all had heard? Was he aware of his own condition and the disturbance72 it caused or was he, on the contrary, dead to his own misery73 and oblivious74 of the rush which was made from all sides to his assistance? Even Deborah could not tell, and was forced to sit quiet in her corner, waiting for the parting of the group which hid the judge from her sight.
It happened suddenly and showed her the same figure she had seen once before — a man with faculties75 suspended, but not impaired76, facing them all with open gaze but absolutely dead for the moment to his own condition and to the world about.
But, horrible as this was, what she saw going on behind him was infinitely77 worse. A man had caught up the bit of paper Judge Ostrander had let fall from his hand and was opening his lips to read it to the curious people surrounding him.
She tried to stop him. She forced a cry to her lips which should have rung through the room, but which died away on the air unheard. The terror which had paralysed her limbs had choked her voice.
But her ears remained true. Low as he spoke78, no trumpet-call could have made its meaning clearer to Deborah Scoville than did these words:
“We know why you favour criminals. Twelve years is a long time, but not long enough to make wise men forget.”
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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antagonistic
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| adj.敌对的 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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degenerate
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| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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tempestuous
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| adj.狂暴的 | |
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agog
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| adj.兴奋的，有强烈兴趣的； adv.渴望地 | |
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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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obsession
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| n.困扰，无法摆脱的思想(或情感) | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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constraining
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| 强迫( constrain的现在分词 )； 强使； 限制； 约束 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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smirking
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| v.傻笑( smirk的现在分词 ) | |
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miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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calumny
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| n.诽谤，污蔑，中伤 | |
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awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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awesome
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| adj.令人惊叹的，难得吓人的，很好的 | |
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precursor
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| n.先驱者；前辈；前任；预兆；先兆 | |
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doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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49
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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lair
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| n.野兽的巢穴；躲藏处 | |
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hubbub
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| n.嘈杂；骚乱 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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prosecutor
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| n.起诉人；检察官，公诉人 | |
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alleviation
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| n. 减轻，缓和，解痛物 | |
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turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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subduing
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| 征服( subdue的现在分词 )； 克制； 制服； 色变暗 | |
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dilating
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| v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的现在分词 ) | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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nemesis
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| n.给以报应者，复仇者，难以对付的敌手 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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impaired
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| adj.受损的；出毛病的；有（身体或智力）缺陷的v.损害，削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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