Her voice, raised in sudden entreaty, the long eyes filled with an anguished anxiety, sent a pang of pity unknown before through the heart of the judge.
The audience rose as one man—only a swish and another dead silence.
"Ye air to come, Daddy Skinner," and without waiting for any further consent she took her father's hand and drew him slowly through the aisle up which she had so lately sung her way.
A man stepped into her path from among the spectators. Tess glanced up, and saw before her the lowering face of Dominie Graves. From every other soul in that room she had been given the bible-backed prisoner, for the majesty of human law had been forgotten in the appeal to the higher one.
"Stop," shouted the pastor, determined to see the sentence of the court carried out. He had placed himself directly in the squatter-girl's path, and, turning toward the jury, flashed indignant eyes upon them.
"Have you all gone mad?" he demanded. "Are you going to allow a murderer to escape from your hands?"
For one instant the condemned giant and the man of God scanned each other's faces with intensity. There was dumb pleading in the one gaze, and hard supremacy in the other. A spasmodic tremor ran over the spectators—Tess had struck a note of tragedy in the affair which had been overlooked by the thoughtless throng.
The judge, startled, spoke confusedly,
"Of course, of course," said he, "such a thing as this—"