Mr. Eaton rose to his feet. "I desire, your honor, to briefly sum up the facts we have presented, in the interest of my client. He is a poor lad, whose reputation and character are his only possessions. For three days he has been branded as a thief; for three days nearly this whole town has been ready to pronounce him guilty, untried and uncondemned; yea, when, as it now so overwhelmingly appears, he was entirely innocent of the crime with which he has been charged. In justice to him I ask that I may briefly sum up the case."
"We shall be glad to have the counsel do this, your honor," said the little attorney, bowing courteously toward Mr. Eaton.
"The court consents," the judge replied, smiling blandly.
With a bow of gracious acknowledgment to his brother attorney, and to the court, Mr. Eaton began a speech, which for eloquence and pathos had never been equaled in the town of Alton. With that rare felicity of language which had already rendered him famous, he began with Ray's humble attempt to make something of himself. He sketched rapidly the boy's progress until he had reached a position of trust with his employer, and had gained the confidence of many more. He described the boy as he left Long Point Farm on that Friday night for Afton. All grew hushed. Even the heaving breath of the vast audience was still, as he told of the scene in the prayer room, when the lad had talked with God. Then, with sudden transition, he pictured the boy's arrest, and his Sunday in the lockup, while all Afton gave him no word of cheer, no look of sympathy, no thought of his innocence. In scathing language he showed their want of charity for the lad, their willingness to misjudge his noblest efforts and purest motives, their eagerness to condemn him unheard.
Never had the citizens of Afton received such a stinging rebuke; and, what was more, there were but very few in that vast audience who did not feel it was deserved. None turned from the speaker, lest they should find the eyes of the others fixed in condemnation upon them. Not one thought of judging others, for a still, small voice within was saying, "Thou art the man." When Mr. Eaton had ended, the judge himself wiped the tears from his eyes, and said, huskily: "The prisoner is discharged for lack of evidence to sustain the indictment." Then he hurried down to the bar, and shook hands warmly with the acquitted boy. Others crowded around, either assuring Ray they never really thought he was guilty, or else confessing their error and asking his forgiveness. In the midst of all this confusion General Squire called out: "The judge, lawyers, witnesses, and friends of Mr. Branford are all invited to my house to dinner. Carriages are now at the door; please hasten out to them." And in spite of protests and excuses, they were all carried off to the Squire mansion, where they found an elaborate dinner awaiting them.
But in the midst of all this ovation, a feeling of sorrow would now and then come to Ray's heart, overshadowing, in a measure, his happiness; for even then he was aware of what all Afton soon knew, that the burglars at the lockup were his own brothers. He had recognized the coat as soon as he had seen it in the court room as belonging to one of his brothers; and when the detective announced their capture, he had felt, notwithstanding his own triumphant acquittal, that his heart would sink in very shame. This was the revelation Betsy Branford had made when she called on Mr. Carleton; but, to shield her, the detective had been put upon the stand, and through his skillful capture of the real offenders, he was able to give in his testimony as though it emanated from himself alone.
The next Friday evening, as Ray sat in Mr. Carleton's study, he suddenly asked:
"Mr. Carleton, why do you suppose God allowed my arrest to take place? What object could he have had in it? And what is the lesson I am to learn?"
Mr. Carleton smiled. "I am quite sure," he said, "we may not know all of God's purpose, but some of it we may know. How about your relation to the Saviour?"
Ray answered, quickly: "He sustained me in the greatest trial of my life, and I never loved him or felt his nearness as I do now."