His head drooped. He seemed to be thinking of something beside what he uttered.
"I understand you," I said.
I pressed his hand, and went to bed.
Her Eyes, Your Honor.
BY H. D. UMBSTAETTER.
THE witness is yours."
As the prosecuting attorney sat down, the spectators craned their necks and eagerly leaned forward. Every one expected a merciless cross-examination, as the reputation of the young lawyer, who had been brought two hundred miles to defend the prisoner, had preceded him. And though Delos McWhorter had thus far taken no part in the proceedings, he was the most conspicuous figure in the great trial. One person alone rivaled him,—the mysterious woman who stood at the bar, charged with murder. The hush that fell upon the packed courtroom as the man slowly rose to his feet resembled the awful silence with which the death sentence is awaited. As he stood silent and irresolute for a moment, the color rising to his plain, youthful face, his fingers nervously fumbling with a pencil, the spectators were conscious of a feeling of disappointment.