“I shall breathe more freely to-morrow,” was Elliott’s comment, as he passed on.
A little further down he met John Holmes.
“I was just going to your office,” said Holmes almost tenderly.
Being near that place, they locked arms and went silently together. When they were seated, Holmes broke the silence.
“Has any reprieve come yet?” he said abruptly as a man plunges into a critical subject.
“No, I am glad to say!” and the lined face that lifted to the other was worn, the eyes strained and bloodshot.
“Holmes, I have been thinking of my old views. God knows I have had time to think and cause to think! I am appreciating now the problem you of the South could not solve.” His voice grew unsteady.
“Harding, I am sorry for you. You have suffered greatly. It is useless to attempt to convey in words what the South has long endured, but I believe she is on the point of struggling from beneath the crushing burden that weighs her down. A time will come when our southern governors will order a special term of Superior Court to try speedily a criminal and invariably fix the death penalty for the offense which is largely responsible for lynching. How much graver, deeper, more human now, must seem to you our tragedies and our defense. We would indeed welcome a worthier mode or the day when there will be no such tragedies.”
That night as the sheriff and his family sat in their lighted room, a man outside kept patient tryst, every fiber of his being directly concerned in the slightest movement or sound.