“I throw up the case, man, and rejoice with you and the whole town. Go down there and take back your son.”
“The Lord has visited me heavily for the wicked pride 492 of my heart. I have no right to joy in my son’s return. He should cast me off.” The old man sat there, shriveled and weary––gazing straight before him, and seeing only his own foolish prejudice, like a Giant Despair, looming over him. But fortunately for him, no one saw him or noticed him but the two at his side, for all eyes were fixed on the young men, as they stood facing each other and gazed in each other’s eyes.
It was a moment of breathless suspense throughout the court room, as if the crowd by one impulse were waiting to hear the young man speak, and the Judge seized the opportunity to again call for order.
When order had been secured, the prisoner’s counsel rose and said: “If your Honor please, I ask leave to have the proofs opened, and to be permitted to call another witness.”
The Judge replied: “I have no doubt the District Attorney will consent to this request. You may call your witness.”
“Richard Kildene!” rang out the triumphant voice of Nathan Goodbody, and Richard stepped into the witness box and was sworn.
The natural eloquence with which he had been endowed was increased tenfold by his intense earnestness as he stood, turning now to the Judge and now to the jury, and told his story. The great audience, watching him and listening breathlessly, perceived the differences between the two men, a strong individuality in each causing such diversity of character that the words of Betty Ballard, which had so irritated the counsel, and which seemed so childish, now appealed to them as the truest wisdom––the wisdom of the “Child” who “shall lead them.”
“It is not the same head and it is not the same scar. It is not by their legs or their scars we know people, it is by themselves––by their souls.” Betty was vindicated.
Poignantly, intently, the audience felt as he wished them to feel the truth of his words, as he described the eternal vigilance of a man’s own soul when he has a crime to expiate, and when he concluded by saying: “It is the Eye of Dread that sees into the hidden recesses of the heart,––to the uttermost end of life,––that follows the sinner even into his grave, until he yields to the demands of righteousness and accepts the terms of absolute truth,” he carried them all with him, and again the tumult broke loose, and they shouted and laughed and wept and congratulated each other. The Judge himself sat stiffly in his seat, his chin quivering with an emotion he was making a desperate effort to conceal. Finally he turned and nodded to the sheriff, who rapped loudly for order. In a moment the room was silent, every one eager to hear what was to be the next step in the legal drama.