But this look, though his first, did not prove to be his last. Something in the attitude of the woman he gazed at—or was it the mystery of the heavy black veil that enveloped her features?—woke a strange doubt in his mind. Beckoning to Mr. Orcutt, he communicated with him in a low tone.
"Can it be possible," asked he, "that any thing new could have transpired since last night to give encouragement to the prosecution?"
The lawyer, startled, glanced hastily about him and shook his head.
"No," he cried; "impossible! What could have transpired?"
"Look at Mr. Ferris," whispered the prisoner, "and then at the witness who wears a veil."
With an unaccountable feeling of reluctance, Mr. Orcutt hastily complied. His first glance at the District Attorney made him thoughtful. He recognized the look which his opponent wore; he had seen it many a time before this, and knew what it indicated. As for Imogene, who could tell what went on in that determined breast? The close black veil revealed nothing. Mr. Orcutt impatiently turned back to his client.
"I think you alarm yourself unnecessarily," he whispered. "Ferris means to fight, but what of that? He wouldn't be fit for his position if he didn't struggle to the last gasp even for a failing cause."
Yet in saying this his lip took its sternest line, and from the glitter of his eye and the close contraction of his brow it looked as if he were polishing his own weapons for the conflict he thus unexpectedly saw before him.
Meantime, across the court-room, another whispered conference was going on.
"Hickory, where have you been ever since last night? I have not been able to find you anywhere."