There was utter silence while this amazing announcement sank into the minds of the listeners. Counsel for the defence sat rigid and uncomprehending in their chairs; the justice leaned forward and stared; the prisoner's eyes widened for a second and then slowly closed. His chin fell; his attitude was one of acute humiliation. His story was not even worthy of notice! No questions! The acme of derision!
Argument by counsel followed, the beardless “assistant-assistant” making the opening address to the jury. He floundered badly. Sampson derived some consolation from his futile, feeble arraignment. If the principal attorney for the State didn't do a great deal better than his singularly ineffectual confrere, there was still hope that the prisoner's counsel might by impassioned pleas stir the hearts of twelve men to mercy. The sympathies of all were—But even as he speculated on the probable lengths to which sympathy would carry his companions in arriving at a verdict, there suddenly flashed into his brain a vast illumination. James W. Hildebrand was not guilty! He was shielding some one else! His reluctance to tell why he left New York was explained. He could not tell without betraying a secret that must forever remain inviolate! Sampson breathed easier. Why, it was as plain as day to him! At least, it was something on which to base a conclusion. It might come in very handy too when the jury, in seclusion, began to grope for a favouring light. On reflection they would all agree that no witness actually had sworn that Hildebrand took the money. The evidence was decidedly circumstantial. By deduction alone was he guilty. On the other hand he had solemnly sworn that he didn't take it. And if he didn't take it, who did? That, said Sampson, was a very simple thing to answer: Some person unknown to the jury.
Miss Hildebrand's spirits undoubtedly fell after that significant move of the State. There was an anxious, bewildered expression in her eyes, and a rather pathetic droop at the corners of her adorable mouth.
The argument proceeded. Mr. O 'Brien made the closing speech for the defendant. Her spirits revived under the eloquent, fervent plea of the now brilliant Irishman. Sampson experienced a feeling of real affection for the earnest, though unkempt orator, who more than once brought tears almost to the surface of his eyes. He had great difficulty in suppressing a desire to blubber, and, when he saw her velvety eyes swimming in tears, he blew his nose so violently that he started an epidemic. No. 7, instead of blowing his nose, sniffed so repeatedly and so audibly that every one wished he'd blow, and have it over with.
And when her eyes flashed with indignation during the uncalled-for tirade of the assistant district attorney, Sampson developed a bitter hatred for the man. When she appeared crushed and bewildered by the vicious attacks of the fellow, and shrank down in her chair like a frightened child, Sampson wanted to take her in his strong, comforting arms and—But, of course, there wasn't any use thinking about such a thing as that. It was not one of his duties as a juror.
The case went to the jury at four o'clock that afternoon, after a somewhat protracted and, to Sampson, totally unenlightening charge by the justice, who advised the jurors that they must weigh the evidence as it was found and forbear allowing their sympathies to overcome their sense of justice. And so on and so forth. He made it very hard for the jurors. If they went entirely by the evidence, there wasn't anything left for them to do but to find the defendant guilty. Sampson had hoped for ameliorating suggestions from the learned justice on which he could base a sensible doubt as to the guilt of the defendant.
But, in so many words, the justice announced that the preponderance of the evidence was in favour of the State. He told the jurors it was their duty and privilege to take the defendant's unsupported testimony for what they considered it to be worth and to place it in opposition to the evidence produced by the State. It was then their duty to render a fair and impartial verdict on the evidence.
As the twelve men filed out of the box on their way to the jury room, Sampson shot a glance at Alexandra Hildebrand. He would not see her again until he returned to the seat he had occupied for six days, and after that she was to pass out of his life entirely. He hoped that she would not be there when he came back with his verdict. It would be much easier for him. He did not attempt to deceive himself any longer. If he lived up to his notions of honour and integrity, there was but one verdict he could return. (He wondered if his companions would prove to be as rigid in this respect as he.)
She was looking in the opposite direction, her chin in her hand. She did not meet his unhappy gaze. He was grateful for that.