“He has forgotten to tell the court how he came by that scar above his temple,––yet he makes the statement that he himself inflicted such a wound on the head of Richard Kildene––the omission is remarkable in so clever an actor. Miss Ballard also admits having bound up that wound on the head of Richard Kildene,––but still she claims that this man is her former fiancé, Peter Craigmile, Jr. Gentlemen of the Jury, is it possible that you can retire from this court room and not consider carefully this point? Is it not plainly to be seen that the prisoner thought to return and take the place of the man he has slain, and through the testimony of the young lady prove himself free from the thing of which he accuses himself in his confession, and so live hereafter the life of a free man without stain––and at last to marry the young girl he has loved, of whom he robbed his cousin, and for whom he killed him, and counting on the undeniable resemblance to that cousin, as proved in this court, to deceive not only the young lady herself––but also this whole community––thus making capital out of that resemblance to his own advantage and––”
“Never! Never!” cried a voice from the far corner of 490 the court room. Instantly there was a stir all over. The Elder jumped up and frowned toward the place from whence the interruption came, and Milton Hibbard lifted his voice and tried to drown the uproar that rose and filled the room, but not one word he uttered could be heard.
Order was called, and the stillness which ensued seemed ominous. Some one was elbowing his way forward, and as he passed through the crowd the uproar began again. Every one was on his feet, and although the prisoner stood and gazed toward the source of commotion he could not see the man who spoke. He looked across to the place where Betty Ballard had been sitting between her father and mother, and there he saw her standing on a chair, forgetful of the throng around her and of all the eyes that had been fixed upon her during her testimony in cold criticism, a wonderful, transfiguring light in her great gray eyes, and her arms stretched out toward some one in the surging crowd who was drawing nearer to the prisoner’s box. Her lips were moving. She was repeating a name over and over. He knew the name she was repeating soundlessly, with quivering lips, and his heart gave a great bound and then stopped beating, and he fell upon his knees and bowed his head on his hands as they clung to the railing in front of him.
Amalia, watching them all, with throbbing pulses and luminous eyes, saw and understood, and her spirit was filled with a great thankfulness which she could not voice, but which lifted her, serene and still, above every one there. Now she looked only at Peter Junior. Then a tremor crept over her, and, turning, she clasped Larry’s arm with shaking hands.
“Let me that I lean a little upon you or I fall down. How this is beautiful!”
Larry put his arm about her and held her to him, supporting her gently. “It’s all coming right, you see.”
“Yes. But, how it is terrible for the old man! It is as if the lightning had fallen on him.”
Larry glanced at his brother-in-law and then looked away. After all his desire to see him humbled, he felt a sense of shame in watching the old man’s abject humility and remorse. Thereafter he kept his eyes fixed on his son, as he struggled with the throng packed closely around him and shouting now his name. Suddenly, when he could no longer progress, Richard felt himself lifted off his feet, and there, borne on the shoulders of the men,––as he had so shortly before been borne in triumph through the streets of Paris,––he was carried forward, this time by men who had tramped in the same column of infantry with him. Gladly now they held him aloft and shouted his name, and the people roared it back to them as they made way, and he was set down, as he directed, in the box beside the prisoner.
Had the Judge then tried to restore order it would have been futile. He did not try. He stood smiling, with his hand on the old Elder’s shoulder. Then, while the people cheered and stamped and shouted the names of the two young men, and while women wept and turned to each other, clasping hands and laughing through tears, Milton Hibbard stooped and spoke in the Elder’s ear.