“We will take a ballot before breakfast in the morning,” said No. 1 decisively. “Now, let's sleep if we can.”
They disposed themselves in chairs, stretched out their legs and—waited for an illuminating daybreak.
Sampson's decision was final. He would not stultify his honour. He would not be swayed by the sweetest emotion that ever had assailed him. Besides, he argued through the long, tedious hours before dawn, when all was said and done, what could Alexandra Hildebrand ever be to him? She would go out of his life the day that—
But there he was at it again! Why couldn't he put her out of his thoughts? Why was he continually thinking of the day when he would see the last of her? And what a conceited fool he had been! She had been most impartial with her mute favours. Every man on the jury was figuratively and literally in the same boat with him. Each one of them believed as he believed: that he was the one special object of interest to her.
But still—he was quite sure—she had communed with him a little more—was he justified in using the word?—intimately than with the others? Surely he could not be mistaken in his belief that she looked upon him as a trifle superior to—But some one was nudging him violently.
“Wake up, Mr. Sampson,” a voice was saying—a voice that was vaguely familiar. It was a coarse, unfeminine voice. “We're ready to take a ballot before we go out to breakfast. Want to wash up first or will you—”
“What time is it?” muttered Sampson, starting up from his chair. Was it the chair that creaked, or was it his bones? He was stiff and sore and horribly unwieldy.
“Half past seven,” said the foreman. Then Sampson recognised the voice that had interrupted his personal confession. Moreover, he recognised the unshaven countenance. It was really quite a shock, coming so closely upon... “You've been hitting it up pretty soundly. No. 7 says he didn't sleep a wink. Afraid to risk it, he says.”
At eight o'clock an attendant rapped on the door and told them to get ready to go out to breakfast.
“Go away!” shouted the foreman. He was in the midst of an argument with No. 7 when the interruption came, and he was getting the better of it.