“Gentlemen of the jury, hearken unto your verdict as the court have it recorded. In the case wherein the Commonwealth is plaintiff and Jack Rennie is defendant, you say you find the defendant guilty. So say you all?”
The members of the jury nodded their heads, the clerk resumed his seat, and the trial of Jack Rennie was concluded.
It was what every one had anticipated, and people began to leave the court-room, with much noise and confusion.
Rennie was talking, in a low tone, with Pleadwell and Carolan, while the sheriff, who had advanced to take charge of the prisoner, stood waiting for them to conclude the conference.
“I don’t want the lad harmed,” said Rennie, talking earnestly to Carolan, “him, nor his mither, nor his brither; not a hair o’ his head, nor a mou’-ful o’ his bread, noo min’ ye—I ha’ reasons—the mon that so much as lays a straw i’ the lad’s path shall suffer for’t, if I have to live a hunder’ year to tak’ ma vengeance o’ him!”
The sonorous voice of the court-crier, adjourning the courts until the following morning, echoed through the now half-emptied room, and the sheriff said to Rennie,—
“Well, Jack, I’m waiting for you.”
“Then ye need na wait longer, for I’m ready to go wi’ ye, an’ I’m hungry too.” And Rennie held out his hands to receive the handcuffs which the sheriff had taken from his pocket. For some reason, they would not clasp over the man’s huge wrists.
“Oh!” exclaimed the officer, “I have the wrong pair. Simpson,” turning to his deputy, “go down to my office and bring me the large handcuffs lying on my table.”