So, while the distant mumble of the jurymen floated indistinct through the windows, they waited and whispered among themselves.
A moment passed, two, three, four. Then the jurors came marching back.
In the midst of a silence that could be felt, the jurymen took their seats and the Justice said:
“Gentlemen, what is your verdict?”
“Jedge,” said a tall, lanky woodsman, rising to his feet, “we came to the conclusion that there weren’t no deadly weapons packed, not narry one.”
There followed ten seconds more of silence, then came a rush forward to shake the young teacher’s hand.
In spite of her efforts at self control, Florence felt tears splash upon her hands, nor were hers the only tears shed that morning.
“But I must be strong,” she told herself, setting her lips tight. “The day is but begun. This is the day of the election.”
The time for the election came.
Marion, having finished her short sleep and eaten a hearty dinner, was on hand as fresh and young as if she had not passed through the terrors of the previous night.