"Give me your hand, Natalia," the old gentleman said, standing beside the carriage. Mrs. Houston and Millicent were already on the sidewalk.
Natalia looked at him a moment, then glanced beyond to the building where people were banked in the windows. Within, she easily imagined the sea of faces.
"Uncle Felix," she cried, shrinking back, and covering her face with her hands. "I can't go. It would be fearful to see Morgan there, before that crowd. I could not bear it! Let me stay here and wait, but tell him I am here, near him!"
The old gentleman looked at the others, perplexed. Without a word, Mrs. Houston stepped back into the carriage and took her seat beside Natalia.
"I shall stay with her," she said.. "You all go in. We will be waiting for you over there—under that tree. Don't wait a minute to come to us, when you know," she added with a quick anxious look towards her husband.
Zebediah drove a few yards away from the gate, where a great spreading elm cast a protecting shade. They were closer to the building than before, and from where they sat they could easily see into the court room through a wide window. The sounds of the stirring crowd within came to them quite distinctly, particularly as the grounds about the building were deserted for the great interest within.
Mrs. Houston, alert and keen to see all that was taking place, sat bolt upright, one hand on Natalia's, the other moving with nervous jerks as she swayed a large palmetto fan. Natalia was in the same position as when she had shrunk back from Judge Houston—both hands covering her face while she huddled pitifully against the cushions.
A half hour passed, with the sound of monotonous voices floating out to them. The murmur of some one reading seemed endless. Then came a long pause. Mrs. Houston suddenly leaned forward and listened.
"Sargent is speaking—at last!" she whispered. "Listen! Listen!"
Natalia lowered her hands slowly from her face. At first she heard only a slight rippling of the leaves of the tree above her, then, on the stillness of the summer day, the sound of a voice drifted towards her—a voice she had heard years and years ago. Her hand tightened on Mrs. Houston's. Suddenly she stood up and stepped out of the carriage.