And he would have to send her beloved grandfather to the penitentiary. He would have to hurt her; he would have to bring pain and despair and, worse than these, astonishment to her beautiful eyes. He knew that he would be haunted for the rest of his life by the look she would give him when the verdict was announced.
James Hildebrand went on the stand on the afternoon of the sixth day. A curious hush settled over the court-room. Men shifted in their chairs and then slumped down dejectedly, as if oppressed by the utter futility of the tale he would have to tell. Alexandra Hildebrand alone was bright-eyed and eager. Her lips were slightly parted as the old man, grey and erect, took the oath. She knew that the truth and nothing but the truth could fall from the lips of this gentle old grandfather of hers. Now they would have the truth! Now the case would crumble! She sent one swift, reassuring look through the jury box, and, for the first time, gazed into no man's eyes. She was puzzled. Every face was averted. Long afterwards she may have recalled the queer little chill that entered her heart, and stayed there for the briefest instant before passing.
The defendant's voice was low, well-modulated, unemotional; his manner simple and yet impressive. Throughout the entire story that he told, his hearers listened with rapt attention.
She sent one swift, reassuring look through the jury box.
They were hoping that he could convince them. They watched his fine, distinguished face; they watched his sombre, unflinching eyes; they watched his steady hands as they rested on the arms of the chair; they watched him with fear in their hearts: the fear that he would falter and betray himself.
He entered a simple, direct denial of the accusation made against him. His story was not a long one, and it would have to go uncorroborated, for, as he said himself, there was no one upon whom he could call for support. In the first place, he declared that he did not know that he was suspected of having robbed his partners until after many months had passed. He was aware of the investigation, but it had never entered his head that he could be the person under suspicion. He admitted taking a hurried and perhaps ill-advised departure from New York, and, in answer to a direct question from his own counsel, declared that he would never reveal his reason for leaving so secretly and in such haste.
Facing the jury he stated calmly, deliberately and in a most resolute manner that he would go to prison for the rest of his days, that he would suffer lasting ignominy and disgrace, before he would publicly account for this action on his part.