"I agree with you, old man," said Bobby, tranquilly. And then they once more fell silent, and the shadows lengthened, and some one lit a feeble gas-jet, which brought out, in ghastly relief, the look of strained expectancy on each face.
At six o'clock there was a rustle, an excitement. Mr. Fenton came in and spoke to Bobby, and he spoke to his wife. She touched Elizabeth on the shoulder. "Dear, we—we go up now," she said. Elizabeth rose and mechanically put up her hand to her hair.
"Do I look all right?" she said, and then smiled vaguely at the commonplace question. A merciful stupor had descended upon her in the last hour; when she looked at her aunts, she saw that they were suffering far more than she. "I am not frightened," she said, "please don't be frightened." She was determined that she would be brave. This was the thought uppermost in her mind.
They went up to the court-room, and on the threshold Mr. Fenton said to her: "Remember, that even if the verdict is—is unfavorable, it is not final. We shall appeal." She bent her head, wondering mechanically that any one should speak of things to happen after the verdict. Her whole life seemed bounded by the events of the next few minutes; she could not look beyond.... The thought crossed her mind of how slight a thing would decide her fate—the difference between one word or two, guilty or not guilty. A mere trifle—a word in three letters; yet all the difference between honor and dishonor, life and death. Her mind fastened upon the irrelevant detail and dallied with it; the while she was conscious, with sickening intensity, of each movement in the court-room—the breathless atmosphere of a suspense, in which the mere rustling of a paper jarred upon the nerves; the jury filing in, the formal opening question, "Gentlemen of the jury, have you decided upon your verdict?" Her throat was parched, balls of fire danced before her eyes, there was a sound in her ears like the rushing of many waters. Guilty or not guilty? One word or two? The question beat upon her brain with a dull persistence, and she was conscious, vaguely, that the answer was of vital importance, but somehow she could not bring herself to realize it.
"Not Guilty."
The words rang clear and confident, across that gulf which separated her from the outside world. As through a mist she saw the relief on the faces of those around her, but still she herself was conscious of no feeling. She still sat white and dazed, staring before her, while her lips moved mechanically, repeating the words that seemed so meaningless: "Not Guilty."
There was a pause, and then a stir, a murmur of relief. Some women sobbed aloud. But she herself still sat staring before her, repeating the answer that seemed to have no meaning: "Not Guilty."