“Oh, a lot of things that don’t matter now,” yelled a man back in the crowd. “Get busy, boys. We can’t—”
“Stop! Wait, and I will tell you what she said. She said one thing that all of you old men ought to remember. It was the most important thing of all, the most horrible. I was there. This man of God, my husband, was there. Other honest people, friends of yours, were there. They heard her words and they repeated them to you the next day. Silence! Listen to me, varlets! You believe she spoke the truth when she uttered that prophecy? Answer!”
“Yes!” came from a hundred throats.
“Then, in God’s name, why are you murdering oliver october baxter?”
“We gave him a fair trial,” answered one of the leaders. “We know all the facts. He is guilty of killing his father. We don’t need any more proof—”
“Are you one of the men who heard the story thirty years ago?”
“Yes, I am—and I heard it straight.”
“Then you must know that this poor boy was adjudged innocent of this crime on the day he was born,” fell slowly, distinctly from the lips of Josephine. “I will repeat the words of the gypsy woman. She said: ‘He will not commit a murder. He will be hanged for a crime he did not commit.’ Speak! Are not those the words of the gypsy?”
Absolute silence ensued. It was as if the crowd had turned to stone.
“And so,” she cried, leveling her finger at the men in the front rank, “you have done your part toward making the prophecy come true. You have hung Oliver October Baxter in spite of the fact that you were told thirty years ago that he would be innocent. It has all come out as the fortune-teller said it would. She read his future in the stars. She read it all from his own star—and, look ye, fools of Rumley, in yonder black dome a single star is shining. See! With your own blind eyes—see!”