Her head was aching both above and below the band still pressing her forehead, and her heart was aching harder as she thought over the events of the day and recalled all she had said and all that had been said to her. It was so much worse than she had expected, especially the cross-questioning to which she had been subjected. She knew it had been done to weaken her testimony and help Paul, but the smart was none the less and her cheeks burned so that she put up her hands to cool them. In her absorption, she did not know anyone was near her until a voice said, “Miss Hansford!”
Then she looked up with a cry of joy, for her first thought was that Paul was standing beside her.
“Oh!” she said, “it’s you, Tom. I thought it was Mr. Ralston.”
“I’ve been told before that we looked alike, especially when I have on his clothes, as I generally do,” Tom replied. Then, still standing before her, he began: “Suppose it goes hard with Mr. Paul?”
“Do you mean hanging?” Elithe asked.
“Perhaps not that,” Tom answered, “but State’s prison, with a convict’s dress and a felon’s cell, not much like the room he is now in. The evidence against him is awful strong. The defense have nothing to offer except his good character. It looks pretty black for him.”
“I couldn’t bear it. I should know I put him there. Oh, Tom, you have said all the while it wouldn’t be, and I believed you and felt there was hope when they were making me tell what I knew.”
“There is hope,” Tom answered, sitting down close to Elithe and speaking very low. “Let’s look it square in the face. If he owns to accidental shooting, which he never will, they’ll give him a few years unless we prevent it.”
“How prevent it? What can we do?” Elithe asked, looking earnestly at Tom and thinking for the first time how he had changed within the last few weeks.
He had grown very thin. His eyes were sunken and bloodshot, with a haunted look in them, as if he were constantly on the alert to ward off some threatened evil.