Without, within, everywhere was bustle, expectation. The crowd filed back into the court-room; Murgatroyd came in from his private office; the Court took its seat upon the bench; and then just as Broderick waddled in, the barred door in the far corner opened, and Challoner, as though in a daze, walked down the aisle, an officer in front and one behind him. The clerk glanced about him to see that all was in readiness, and then nodding to an officer, he said:—
"Bring 'em in!"
A minute that seemed minutes elapsed, and then the jury filed in—a jury whose faces, whose demeanour told nothing, gave no sign. Then there was an interval of silence, and in that interval a cutting pang seized upon the soul of every human present—the agony of suspense, the travail that precedes the birth of a verdict.
"Gentlemen of the jury," said the clerk rapidly, "have you agreed upon your verdict?"
"We have," came in chorus.
"Who do you say shall answer for you?"
The eleven men pointed toward their foreman.
"Gentlemen of the jury," said the clerk, "look upon the prisoner; prisoner, look upon the jury. Gentlemen of the jury, how do you say you find—guilty or not guilty?"
The foreman glanced upon the piece of paper which he held in his left hand and gripped the rail before him with his right.
"Guilty," he replied.