During the time this brilliant champion was fighting his battle for him in the last defensible position he could ever obtain, Mr. Tomlinson remained as if fixed to the spot where he was sitting, yet with his mind entirely active. He saw, he felt that there was hope for him; that this heaven-sent advocate, whoever he was, would save him from ruin. At last the case closed, and the court announced that its decision would be given in the morning.
"Who is he?" Mr. Tomlinson heard some one ask of his persecutor, as the young man closed his last and most brilliant effort.
With an imprecation uttered between his teeth, he replied, "One that refused to take my side, although I offered him a fee of five thousand dollars if successful."
"What is his name?"
"Denton."
"Pity you couldn't have secured him."
Mr. Tomlinson heard no more. He turned his eyes upon the young man he had three times rudely repulsed, but he could not see his face; he was bending over and arranging some papers. The announcement of the court, in regard to the time when a decision was to be made, drew his attention from him. When he again sought the young attorney, he was gone.
Nearly a week of most distressing suspense was suffered by Edith. Every day she heard from her father, but all was doubt and despondency, until there came a letter announcing the sudden appearance of a volunteer advocate, who had changed the whole aspect of affairs, and created the most lively hopes of success. Who he was, the letter did not say.
During the morning that succeeded the one on which this letter was received, Edith wandered about the house like a restless spirit. The decision had been made on the day previous, and in a few hours her father would be home. What intelligence would he bring? Whenever she asked herself that question, her heart trembled. Twenty times had she been to the highest windows in the house to look far away where the road wound down a distant hill, to see if the carriage were coming, although she knew two hours must elapse before her father could possibly arrive.
At last the long and anxiously looked-for object came in sight, winding along the road far in the distance. Soon it passed from view, and she waited breathlessly, until it should appear at a nearer point. Again it met her eyes, and again disappeared. At last it reached the long avenue of poplars that lined the carriage-way leading up to the house; the horses were coming at a rapid speed. Edith could not breathe in the rooms—the atmosphere was oppressive. She went into the porch, and, leaning against or rather clinging to one of the pillars, stood almost gasping for breath. The suspense she suffered was awful; but certainty soon came. The carriage whirled rapidly into its position before the door, and Mr. Tomlinson sprang from it as agile as a boy. He had merely time to say—