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THE UNSEEN JURY








“IT was MORE THAN HE could sTAND.
** To
FoR HER words.”—Page 2/4.
VN ARD -
HE DARED NOT WAIT


(Liye Qingeen 3/urp
A NOVEL
By
EDWARD CLARY ROOT
Author of “Huntington, Jr.,” etc.
With Illustrations by
PHILLIPPS WARD
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHERS


CoPYRIGHT, 1907,
BY FREDERIck A. Stokes CoMPANY
Published in March, 1907
All rights reserved


TO
L. R.





CON TENTS
CHAPTER
XXII.
XXIII.
XXIV.
XXV.
XXVI.
XXVII.
XXVIII.
XXIX.
XXX.
XXXI.
XXXII.
XXXIII.
XXXIV.
XXXV.
XXXVI.
A FRIENDLY INTERVENTION •
RUTH's ASSISTANCE .
PREPARATIONS FOR DEFENCE
THE APPROACHING CONTEST
READINESS FOR BATTLE
A NECESSARY FAREwELL .
THE CONTEST BEGINS
THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY RESTS
THE ADVANCE .
A VOLUNTEER WITNESS
A DETERMINED ASSAULT .
THE FINAL EFFORT .
THE VERDICT .
A SECOND VERDICT .
GEORGE COMES HOME AGAIN
PAGE
I94
2O5
2I2
22I
227
236
245
26O
27O
28I
29I
298
3I5
325
338
viii


ILLUSTRATIONS
“It was more than he could stand. . . . He
dared not wait for her words” . . Frontispiece
FACING
PAGE
“There was merriment in her voice and no dread
for the future, as she came down the steps” 18
“Do you know what would happen to any man
who interfered with me?” . • © . 72
“Don't!” he whispered. “Don’t answer that
question!” o • e • • . I 30





THE UNSEEN JURY





THE UNSEEN JURY
CHAPTER I
GEORGE HUNTER COMES HOME
THE man at the car window sank more com-
fortably into his seat, turning his face to the open
country as villages, woodland and streams waved
by in ever-varying succession. The gray eyes
were the sensitive eyes of a poet or an artist, but
the chin and mouth showed will-power that could
have developed from nothing but the most practical
dealings with men, while a sense of alertness and
latent energy spoke training in some profession
where dreamers do not flourish and imagination
is not reckoned an asset.
Yet now he had relaxed completely. A maga-
zine lay at his side unnoticed, and as the train
picked its way through the green hills that after-
noon in the westering June sunlight, he gave scant
heed to the beauty of the early summer. Just start-
ing on vacation, he seemed filled with buoyant hap-
piness, a happiness greater than that of a man near-
ing well-earned rest. Astrange revery bound him.
I


THE UNSEEN JURY
Suddenly animation returned, for he had caught
sight of a little town with a runabout coming at
full speed through the quiet street. When the
train pulled into the station, it had stopped, and a
girl, hatless, her dress in strong contrast to the
dark red of the carriage-body, was watching ex-
pectantly. Her whip gaily waved welcome as he
swung down the steps and a moment later he was
at her side.
From a distance he had read happiness in her
expressive face. “How good it is having you
home again l” she exclaimed with sunny impul-
siveness, her eyes deep with the sincerity of a per-
fect welcome; “but I nearly missed connections
this time,” she laughed, as he seated himself. Her
attention was drawn to the horse as a talkative
freight engine rumbled by. Then, a slight pressure
on the reins, and the station was left behind.
“You see,” she went on, “I’ve been out on the
lake all the afternoon, and had just time to get
back to the house and drive over.” Her face told
of life in the open air, and the rich low tones of
her voice showed boundless health. She pushed
back the wavy hair from her forehead. “It’s
so good having you home !” she repeated.
At the last word the man smiled feelingly.
“It’s good being here, Ruth. How 's Uncle
Tom ?”
2


GEORGE HUNTER COMES HOME
A quick glance of pride, then her expression
clouded. “He seems very tired and is n’t sleep-
ing well. Sometimes I talk to him about it, but
he won’t listen. He laughs and jokes more than
he has for years. If it were n’t for that, I’d be
anxious.” She bowed to some friends in a pass-
ing carriage. “Father had to go to the Junction
to see a man on business, so he could n’t drive
over with me to meet you. He's been talking
about your coming home for a week. We’re
going to enjoy ourselves the next few days, are n’t
we, George?” she added in utter good-fellowship.
The road entered a clump of pine-trees, and
turned sharply to the left. A fragile, chalk-faced
boy, seated on a post in front of a tiny cottage,
became frantic with excitement as he saw Ruth.
“Hellohellohellohello!” he piped in thin treble,
and waved his little arms exultingly. Then he
saw that she was not alone, and at once became
confused.
Ruth stopped and spoke cheerily to the boy.
But he had withdrawn into himself and would not
answer. One finger went into his mouth and he
gazed at the ground. Ruth's voice softened, and
there was tenderness in her manner as she talked
to the sickly child and tried to make him look up.
“That’s our old gardener's little boy,” she ex-
plained to a question as they drove on; “he had
3


THE UNSEEN JURY
something the matter with his hip last winter and
the doctors thought he’d be badly crippled, but
Father brought a specialist up from Boston to treat
him. The boy's had a hard time, but now they
say he's coming through all right. I used to go
down and take him fruit when they kept him in
bed, and read to him. He ’s devotion itself, and
sits on that post every afternoon waiting for me to
drive by.”
The two miles between the railroad station and
Mr. Maston's residence slipped rapidly away.
Ruth's eyes kindled with pride at mention of her
father's name, and clearly no other interest or love
that came into her life could displace him. “It’s
beautiful what everybody thinks of Father,” she
observed when the confines of the village lay be-
hind and they neared the foot of the long hill that
marked the journey's end; “we never go walk-
ing without its making 1  happy — the way peo-
ple speak to him. Memorial Day he addressed
the Veterans again, though he wanted them to
find somebody else, as he's done it so often.”
“He’s the best-loved man ever in this town,”
came the quick response. “There he is now !”
They had passed the big oak and were entering
the driveway that wound up to the house.
Mr. Maston was crossing the lawn in front, un-
conscious of their approach. Though not far be-
4


GEORGE HUNTER COMES HOME
yond middle age, his hair was entirely gray, and
there was a tired stoop to his shoulders. His hat
hung listlessly in his hand, moving to and fro with
peculiar rhythm. He seemed a man of high-
strung nature under especial tension.
He turned at the crunch of the wheels, his face
breaking into a smile as he stepped forward. “Ah,
George! I’ve been thinking about you all day.
Glad to have you home again!” He led the way
into the house. “No, I did n’t go to the Junction
after all,” he replied to the wonder in Ruth's face.
“I got about half way, then turned and came
back.”
They had now gained the broad rear veranda.
About them the green of lawn and foliage that
precedes full summer, with air singularly fragrant
and clean after city streets. His journey over,
George Hunter leaned back into the happiness of
relaxation. As the shadows crept over the lake
nestling beneath the hill, he thought long of what
Mr. Maston's friendship had been in his life. This
harked him back to his earliest boyhood.
As through heavy mists he saw another man,
tall and broad-shouldered and silent-looking, who
used to walk with him and seemingly never tired
of answering questions. He remembered this
man's talking of the gentle, sweet-voiced lady-
more shadowy-outlined still on the horizon of
5


THE UN SEEN JURY
memory — who came to his bed at night and told
him stories or sang the song he liked best of all.
He remembered the look in the man's face when
saying that the boy must never forget this beauti-
ful lady who had gone on a long journey. Once
the boy asked if she’d be back for his birthday party
the next day. The man set him down suddenly
and looked long out of the window without an-
swering. When next he spoke the gruffness in
his voice made the boy wonder if he had said any-
thing wrong.
Mr. Maston came often to visit in those old days
and would walk with this big man, arm in arm.
Sometimes their voices sank low and the boy did
not understand what they were saying. Often as
he played near, they stopped talking and watched
him.
One day strange people came to the house, and
told the boy that he could not talk with the big
man nor even see him. They walked tiptoe and
kept the house very quiet. A few days later great
masses of flowers were brought in, and many more
people came, all wearing black. Nobody would
tell the boy what it meant, but the rooms were
filled with people who looked at him with tears in
their eyes, and there was singing by two men and
two women who stood together, and a man in a
long black coat took his place by a heap of flow-
6


GEORGE HUNTER COMES HOME
ers in the drawing-room and spoke very sadly-
so it seemed to the boy's mind.
The next day as he leaned his head against the
desk in the library where the big man used to
write—looking at the chair and wondering — a
warm hand came gently down on his forehead and
the fingers worked through his curls. Mr. Maston
began telling a story that opened his eyes widely
—how his father had gone to find his mother.
Till they returned — Mr. Maston's voice trembled
as he said this—the boy was to live with him.
With extreme distinctness George remembered
his first coming to Woodford, and Mrs. Maston's
kneeling in whole-armed welcome at the close of
the dusty day on the train, and her petting him
and crying as she showed him the little girl who
was some day to be his playmate.
George Hunter's thoughtsdrifted rapidly through
the twenty years and more that had followed. He
had been taught to call Mr. Maston his uncle, and
not till he was a dozen years old did he learn that
they were not related, Mr. Maston being simply
his father's dearest friend. Mr. Maston had always
evaded questions as to money matters, stating that
everything was right and that the boy would re-
ceive an accounting when he grew older. Toward
the end of his sophomore year at college, George
learned, and then by chance, that the settlement
7


THE UN SEEN J U RY
of his father's estate had left nothing, and that
every opportunity of his life had come as a gift
from this old friend who had striven to keep his
generosity hidden.
With each return to Woodford, George felt more
keenly his debt to the home that had been given
him. Mr. Maston's ill-health increased this feel-
ing. He had Ruth's dark eyes, and in them was
grave anxiety that faded whenever she glanced
toward him. Whatever the trouble, it was clear
that Mr. Maston had determined that Ruth should
never share it. Occasionally an odd gleam shot
from under his massive eyebrows, and he talked
with cheerfulness of manner a trifle forced.
Ruth slipped into the house a moment and
George leaned forward. “Are you worrying
about Lee again?”
“Yes, for I can't stop him,” Mr. Maston raised
his hand in a weary gesture, “I can't stop him.
I can’t stop him, no matter what I do. He — ”
The words ended abruptly, and both men looked
across the lawn.


CHAPTER II
ENTER LEE DAVIDSON
A YOUNG fellow came jauntily toward them,
his figure that of ease carried to advantage.
There was high colour in his cheeks, but his man-
ner was attractive and his smile good-humoured.
“You’re just in time, Lee,” Mr. Maston said.
“George reached home only a few minutes ago.”
Lee Davidson drew back in surprise. His eyes
hardened but only for a moment. Then he shook
hands heartily. At closer view his face, though
quick and open and intelligent, held too much
experience for a man not over twenty-five. “Back
from the wickedness of the big city, George P”
he asked, carelessly dropping his hat into a chair
and seating himself in another. “Do they keep
you busy now P”
“More cases are coming my way than there
were five years ago. Still, I don’t have to refuse
many for lack of time.”
Davidson turned to Mr. Maston. “I just
dropped over to see if Ruth did n’t want to go to the
Club-house dance to-morrow night. Now that
9


THE UN SEEN J U RY
George is here, he’ll drive her over I suppose. Or
I could take them both across in my launch.”
There was a fascination about the man even in
commonplaces, but an undercurrent of cynicism
ran with his words. Davidson's face brightened
when Ruth returned, and at once he became ani-
mated. The two had always been warm friends,
but George started at seeing how close they had
grown in recent months. There seemed the
strongest friendship between them, and he smiled
at their happiness together, till by chance he
glanced toward Ruth's father. Mr. Maston, deep
in his chair, was supporting his head in a hand
that did not conceal his anxiety.
When Lee rose, Ruth walked with him down
the veranda, her father's eyes following them in-
tently. His voice dropped to a whisper.
“That boy’s going straight to the devil, and as
fast as he can. He ’s beginning to drink heavily,
and a good many other rumours reach me about
him. I’m afraid that nothing will ever stop him.
He has the makings of one of the finest men,
but his attitude toward life is all wrong, and he’s
simply throwing himself away. Naturally enough,
his temper is also changing for the worse. He's
always been self-willed, but now he seems to lose
himself completely when things don't go to his
liking. I never saw a more excitable man. I
IO


EN TER LEE DAVIDSON
hate to have him see so much of Ruth, but I
can’t tell him not to come to the house, for I
love the boy in spite of all.” Mr. Maston turned
in his chair with less solemn expression. “In a
measure he ’s not responsible for his wildness.
Heredity is all against him, and nothing has ever
happened to change his ways. And yet I can't
help loving him for his good qualities. He's
generous and brave and would do anything for a
friend. There's another reason why I mustn't
use force in keeping him away from Ruth.”
He drew himself up. “I trust Ruth absolutely,
and would never let her think she had lost my
confidence. I know she 'd never love any man
whose character I disapproved, but I wish to
God that young Davidson would come up to
the good I know he has in him l”
A hint of curiosity came into Mr. Maston's
face. “Have you and Lee been having more
trouble? I thought I saw something in his man-
ner when you met this afternoon. Nothing seri-
ous, I hope?”
George smiled slightly. “Not at all ! Two or
three letters have passed between us recently,
but the matter is of no moment. I’ll tell you
about it the first chance I get.”
When Ruth returned to seat herself on the arm
of her father's chair, her hand resting on his
I I


THE UNSEEN JURY
shoulder, all his anxiety faded. “Are you going
to the dance P”
“Yes, I told Lee I’d see him there. Don't
you think we’d better telephone him to come
over to lunch to-morrow P” she asked happily.
“Is n’t he changing ? He talks better and grows
more interesting every day.”
That afternoon George had much to think of as
the sun went under the ridge of hills behind
them. He saw that Mr. Maston's health was
again uncertain, and that he was greatly troubled
by Lee Davidson's persistence in seeking Ruth.
He knew that before long a painful crisis must
come. So he tried to divert Mr. Maston's at-
tention.
The preceding weeks had been very eventful,
and George found several amusing incidents to
relate. The middle-aged lawyer with his main
office full of waiting clients, and his name in the
newspapers every day, is a larger figure with the
profession, but it is to be questioned if he finds the
joy in his work that comes to the man a few years
started in practice, who has weathered some of
the dangers of inexperience, and feels in his blood
a hint of the success awaiting clear-sighted men
who hold steadily on their way.
Save possibly the physician, no man sees more
of the humour and pathos of life than the lawyer
I2


ENTER LEE DAVIDSON
in active practice. As he talked, George could
see that Mr. Maston was losing his nervousness,
and when they went to dinner, his laugh was once
more natural. Occasionally, however, he watched
Ruth with an intent though absent-minded air.
George thought he had discovered the entire cause
of Mr. Maston's worry. Ruth had done nothing
wrong in letting Davidson fall wildly in love with
her, but it gave her father a difficult problem. He
did not wish to wound her feelings by a distrust
that would have been shown by harsh measures
toward Davidson, nor did he wish to arouse the
sympathy which might have followed from such a
course. But he did intend to prevent her marry-
ing a man so unworthy. The situation is not new
and quite naturally it was causing Mr. Maston
anxiety.
After dinner Ruth and George strolled down to
the boat-house and slipped out on the lake in one
of the canoes that lay clustered there. The hap-
piness that had been his on the train came back
with increased measure. The news of Davidson's
advancing love for Ruth brought strong feeling
and his heart beat irregularly at thought of her
passing out of his life. He had always been close
to her as a brother, and in boyish dreams had
often woven their futures together, but when start-
ing to practice his profession this desire had not
I 3


THE UNSEEN JURY
been uppermost. The young lawyer who hangs
by his finger-tips in a large city has no great
leisure for cultivating the emotions. Since then
several years had passed with like effect. Though
Ruth had never been beyond his affection, busi-
ness had absorbed him completely. In the early
days he had lacked the perspective necessary in
judging character; but after being away from
Woodford so much he had at last come to know
Ruth as she really was.
Not a ripple broke the surface of the lake, and
the trees bordering it stood clearly mirrored in the
depths below. The canoe drifted lazily on, George
watching Ruth's face with its play of thought and
feeling. Lee Davidson had brought him to a
realization of the crisis. The thought that a man
he had known for years without respect, and with
admiration only for superficial qualities, should
seek to marry Ruth was not pleasing. He ap-
preciated the fascination the man exerted, but dis-
missed him with the thought that Ruth must soon
discover how selfish and shallow his life.
George listened to Ruth's cheery talk as her
figure slowly merged into the dusk. She thought
him unaccountably silent, but he was seeing her
again in the days of memory. She was seven
years his junior, and it seemed to him but a mo-
ment since they had been children together, and
I4


EN TER LEE DAVIDSON
she had brought him all her joys for sharing.
When he entered college she was still a little girl,
but every vacation had found her further along
till now she was realizing to the full the promise
she had long been making.
A sympathetic silence came over them, and for
minutes neither spoke. “Don’t you like to think
of the times when we were children here?” Ruth
asked at length, her face dimly visible against the
obscure sky-line, “and of all the memories about
this dear old place?” The mood brought her
back to the question of the afternoon. “How do
you think Father really is, now? We must save
him all the worry we possibly can.”
“Oh, Uncle Tom 's all right,” was the confident
answer. “Perhaps he's a little nervous, but he's
well. In fact he seems stronger than he did the
last time I was home.”
The paddle dipped into the water and the canoe
ran out of the darkness under the trees into the
half-light a hundred yards off shore.
“One thing I’ve noticed about Father,” Ruth
continued, and there was long-remembered music
in her laughter; “sometimes he jokes as he never
used to do.” She glanced up to the house as the
canoe lay motionless again. “I never saw Father
when he seemed so happy as he often is now.”
George made a light answer, but was thinking
I5


THE UNSEEN JURY
that the great exhilaration Mr. Maston had shown
of late might be the reaction from corresponding
depths of depression. Or it might be assumed to
shield from Ruth his true feeling. When the nose
of the canoe touched the float again, it was fully
dark, and though George had yielded somewhat
to the spell Ruth always cast over him, there was
growing restlessness in his mind. He wondered
whether the depression he had noticed in Mr.
Maston was that natural to age, or whether some
illness or financial misfortune was threatening his
old friend.
George cast future doubts aside as they came
slowly up the hill again. The air was without mo-
tion, carrying welcome coolness from the lake. A
penetrating stillness surrounded them with the
perfume of invisible roses, and the turf when they
left the path answered luxuriously to the tread.
They loitered by a rock that broke through the
lawn, with reckless vines running over it profusely.
George threw back his shoulders with deep breath-
ings of satisfaction. “Just to be out of the noise
and heat!” he exclaimed. “If this were n’t home,
I’d love to come up from the city only to escape
the things that jar upon one. To think that for a
whole week now work is behind me and I can do
absolutely nothing all the time !”
“Nothing?” Ruth laughed. “I thought we
I6


ENTER LEE DAVIDSON
were planning to do a great many things together.
Perhaps you mean nothing important!”
Mr. Maston strolled down to meet them, his
cigar a bright glow in the darkness, and he was
joviality itself as they retraced their steps to the
house. He told stories for an hour takingly, and
they separated for the night in the happiest spirits.
George did not at once go to bed. He stood at
the window of his room overlooking the lake, and
watched the moon struggle with thick clouds of
black center and fleecy edges. At length it broke
through, and in the brisk wind the ripples danced
merrily away in lanes of long and wavering silver.
Presently more clouds came over and the picture
vanished.
A strange mood of introspection stayed with
George and he lived in his past as seldom before.
He had begun his vacation in the midst of the
family he loved best of all on earth, whose wel-
come to him never lessened and never grew old.
He thought of all Mr. Maston had done and been
in his life. One question kept recurring: “Shall
I ever have an opportunity to pay this back?”
Out of the soft, enfolding darkness there was no
anSWer.
17


CHAPTER III
THE BEGINNINGS OF ENMITY
EVERYBODY of interest in Woodford owning a
craft larger than a row-boat belongs to the Wood-
ford Yacht Club. The club-house is directly across
the lake not more than a mile and a half distant,
but by land a full six miles the shorter way.
Ruth came to the veranda the evening of the
dance, a warm wrap over her arm. She stopped
a moment in the doorway, and her slender, erect
figure in a shimmering gown stood out against
the house. There was merriment in her voice and
no dread for the future. Her eyes were dark
with anticipation as she came down the steps and
her father helped her into the carriage.
“I wish you were coming, too,” she said im-
pulsively, her face rich with feeling, and clung to
his hand. “It’s not right leaving you here all
alone !”
“I’m a little too far along for things of this
kind. You must have the good time in my stead.
Don’t dance too much and come home over-tired,
Ruth !”
Mr. Maston had been all smiles, but when
I8


s
Philip
WARD-
N HER voice AND No DREAD FoR THE FUTURE,
THERE WAS MERRIMENT I
**
As she cAME Down THE STEPs.”—Page 18.





THE BEGINNINGS OF ENMITY
George turned to help Ruth with her wrap, for the
night was already cool, he saw him pass up the
steps, bent and discouraged. His appearance re-
called a serious illness five years before, when on
returning from a business trip Mr. Maston had
seemed on the verge of a nervous break-down and
had remained in poor health for months. No doc-
tor benefited him and he grew old rapidly.
Throughout his long illness he showed an anxious
tenderness toward Ruth. Now again he was
worrying about her. The situation as concerned
Lee Davidson was indeed unfortunate, but George
could see nothing to justify great alarm.
Ruth's happiness that evening knew no bounds.
“Father is always telling me not to dance too
much. He thinks I’m frail, but I never get tired
at a dance.”
George watched her closely, trying to catch
every shade of meaning in her voice and her
quickly changing countenance. Her high spirits
carried him along though he said little. He was
thinking of his regard for Mr. Maston that but in-
creased as Mr. Maston grew old and he matured.
And of his friendship for Ruth that had steadily
grown from the beginning. Between them there
had always been perfect sympathy, yet he never
came back to Woodford without finding something
new to admire in her character, or realizing afresh
I9


THE UNSEEN JURY
its indefinite touch of perfection. With all her
charm and capacity for deep living she was car-
rying into her womanhood the unspoiled nature of
a little child. Two things impressed George that
evening and remained in his memory, the way
Ruth had been developing of late, and her won-
derful and surpassing love for her father. Her
mother's death, two years before, had welded them
together, it seemed inseparably.
The moon had not yet risen, and the mournful
tone of the wind as they drove through the woods
sounded thin but impressive. A dark night with
a few dim stars near the horizon and mystery all
about. Ruth had always been singularly alive to
natural impressions, and as they drove on into the
silence she became very quiet. This grew till the
lights of the club-house shining through the trees
ended the mood that had been over them.
“Here we are !” she said. “And, George, I
want you to do something for me. Mr. Williams
was in trouble again last week, and all the disa-
greeable people in town are talking about it. I
don't suppose that Charlie will be here to-night,
but if he is be sure to bring him over for a dance
with me.”
They entered the club-house, and half a dozen
hopefully smiling men crowded around Ruth, be-
ginning to talk in unison.
2O


THE BEGINNINGS OF ENMITY
“Really,” she protested with impartial friendli-
ness, “I don’t know how many I have left. I
promised to save two for Lee, and as George has
my card he will probably take three more. Make
them all waltzes,” she whispered.
It was still a few minutes early, and George, after
filling his own order, left Ruth tactfully dividing
her two remaining dances among four eager ap-
plicants, and walked out on the piazza built over the
lake. Several men joined him and smoked and
chatted together, waiting for the first sound from
the orchestra.
An asthmatic toot from the thick obscurity be-
yond the reflection of the club-house lights, and a
little launch glided into view. Lee Davidson
sprang impatiently upon the float.
“Hello, boys!” He ran up the steps with a
careless wave of the hand. “Thought I’d never
get here. Had to stop three times on the way
over.” He turned eagerly to George. “Is Ruth
inside?”
“Yes, but you’d better hurry. She’s been
saving two dances, but will think you’re not com-
ing and give them away.”
The men watched Lee vanish. One of them
flicked the ash from his cigarette with a puzzled
expression. “How does that fellow do it?” he
demanded in wonder, “he gets here only a minute
2I


THE BEGINNINGS OF ENMITY
During the intermission the men drifted outside
to smoke. Ruth was talking to some friends of
her father's and seemed engaged for a few min-
utes, so George followed. Lee evidently had
been awaiting him.
“Let’s go down to the float,” he suggested.
“I want to show you the new engine in my launch.
There’s plenty of time before that next dance.”
The Davidson family history in Woodford was
peculiar. Lee's father, coming there unknown,
had owed his early advance almost wholly to Mr.
Maston's assistance. Toward the end of his life
there were rumours that Mr. Davidson had at-
tained increase of fortune by means other than
business sagacity and industry, but Mr. Maston's
position and friendship had been enough to retain
for the family the earlier respect.
For another reason Lee should have been at-
tentive to Mr. Maston's wishes. He had given
ample evidence of his love for Ruth, and though
Mr. Maston did not know his character as well as
many a younger man in Woodford, common pru-
dence should have made him defer to Mr. Mas-
ton's wishes, at least to the outward view. But
he was too headstrong for any control. His
tastes were low and vicious, but covered by a
veneer of courtesy that was sufficient for those
who did not know him to the core. He was hand-
23


THE UNSEEN JURY
some, reckless and possessed of a spirit that made
most of his acquaintances like him exceedingly.
Ruth of course had seen him only at his best.
For a long time Mr. Maston had sought to
rouse Lee from his lethargy, but of late his efforts
had lacked even partial success. Davidson had
argued himself into that attitude of mind where
even the most friendly remonstrance is regarded
hostilely. He stubbornly resisted Mr. Maston's
attempts to change his course. He had grown
into the belief that he was at least the equal of
any of his friends. The investments his father
had made were all increasingly profitable, and
he saw no reason why Mr. Maston should stand
in the way of his marrying Ruth. He bitterly
resented the opposition, and his hot-headedness
was too great to permit his feeling against Mr.
Maston to remain under cover.
As they passed away from the other men and
came to the float, George could see resolve in
Davidson's stride. His hands went into his pockets
and he drew savagely on his cigarette. Then he
turned, the distant lights showing the resentment
in his face.
“See here,” he began, “what did you mean
writing that letter?”
George stopped. “I did n’t suppose you wanted
to talk about that. If it is n’t one thing, it’s an-
24


THE BEGINNINGS OF EN MITY
other. Why can't we get along without these
disputes?”
“I shall lose fifteen hundred dollars on this inter-
ference of yours with my plans.”
“You won’t lose a cent for you’re getting full
value. But even if I had known you were the
buyer, I’d have acted just the same. When old
Mrs. Meggers wrote me that she thought of selling
her little place at such a low figure, of course I
advised against it. Even at my valuation, you
have a good return for your money. You don't
need any more land, but if you want it, pay a fair
price. You can’t quarrel with me on that and you
know it!”
Lee gave little heed to the explanation, for
something else was in his mind.
“What has come over Mr. Maston of late?” he
blurted out, “he tries to keep Ruth away from me
more and more !”
“I only got home yesterday. You know I
have n’t had time for sizing things up.”
“Well, you know one thing, that Mr. Maston is
the only person in this world between me and
Ruth. You understand matters so I can talk to
you. Mr. Maston is prejudiced against me and
spends all his time thinking up ways I might be
improved. If it was n’t for his opposition, I know
I could marry Ruth !”
25


THE UNSEEN JURY
“Has she told you so?”
“No, that is, not exactly, but I can tell well
enough how she feels. And I’m not the first to
notice that Mr. Maston is the only man in my
way.”
He threw down his cigarette with a quick,
excited gesture and began pacing rapidly across
the float, his expression one of uncontrolled
anger.
“Do you know that people are commencing to
talk about Mr. Maston's opposition to me? That’s
carrying it a bit too far !” His voice trembled
with emotion. “I’ve heard a number of things
lately, but the plainest of all came to-night. Ruth
and I had gone out on the veranda after our first
dance, but it was cold and I did n’t dare let her
stay. Coming back we met Fred Hurlburt and
that pudgy-faced Miss Phillips. Ruth had dropped
her fan and I went out for it. They did n’t know
I was behind them. ‘Yes,' I heard Fred answer,
“he’s head over heels in love with her, and I
guess she’d be willing enough to marry him, but
Mr. Maston would n’t see it for a second l’”
The bitterness in Lee's face deepened. “I
wonder how Mr. Maston learned the things in my
life I most wanted covered !” He came near with
a harsh exclamation. “Have you been telling
him things about me?”
26


THE BEGINNINGS OF EN MITY
There was no answer. “Well, that was too
much to say, but you see how I’m fixed,” he con-
tinued in half-apology, “this opposition to me has
got to stop. Whenever you’re home I notice
that it’s a little harder for me with Ruth. That
means that your influence is working. Perhaps
you have n’t said anything against me in words,
but would you in the future ?”
The stern lips of the lawyer relaxed. “Don’t
you know me better than that? I bear you no
ill-will, but your happiness in life is nothing to me
compared with Ruth's. Of course I would use
my influence against you, if necessary. If Ruth
came to love you, and I believed that marrying
you would make her life unhappy, I'd move
heaven and earth to break matters off, even if you
were actually engaged. I should do nothing,
however, till I had to.”
They went up the steps and George could feel
the anger against him his words had roused. The
former dislike between the men had grown, on Lee's
part, to an enmity that bade fair to be permanent.
He came near, with lowered voice. “It’s a dan-
gerous thing for any man to interfere with me, so
if ever you decide to, look out for yourself!”
They joined the returning throng, Lee's face
no index to his thoughts. He glanced over his
shoulder. “The moon will be up in a few minutes
27


THE UN SEEN J U RY
now. George and I have been down looking at
my launch.”
For the balance of the evening George was
in no mood to notice the flying minutes. Often
he caught himself seeking Ruth as she wound
gracefully in and out among the other dancers.
The light gown in delicate contrast with the many
colours through the room, and the smiles that
came to her happy face and lingered in the dark
eyes drew George still closer. The last dance was
his, and when the orchestra turned into “Home,
Sweet Home,” he saw Lee approaching. The
music stopped and he was at their side. “I’ll be
around to-morrow afternoon, Ruth,” he said after
bidding her good-night. “So long, George l” he
smiled cordially and sauntered away to the float,
a throng of men surrounding him and listening
eagerly to his gay banter. As Lee's shoulders
passed through the door, George heard his mellow
laugh and questioned himself as to whether this
could be the man who had been so violently angry
a short time before.
The air was full of silent yearning as they drove
away, and George was conscious of a strange
depth of feeling in Ruth's manner. Her mood
harmonized with the surroundings. She was
evidently under Lee Davidson's spell, and he felt
28


THE BEGINNINGS OF EN MITY
pity for her in the warring he knew must come in
her soul.
The night was clear and the road stretched yel-
low and hard before them, turning from the lake
now and then to pass through a bit of intervening
woodland.
The moonlight broken by thick branches fell
upon Ruth's hair and throat and played in flicker-
ing shadows over her face. George watched her
intently. What strange fatality had brought him
home at an hour when she stood perplexed at the
dividing roads? He was confident that she did
not love Lee yet, but she had come perilously
near doing so, perhaps the question in her heart
was approaching settlement more rapidly than
anybody dreamed. He shuddered at thought of
her possible conflict between devotion to a man
she loved and scrupulous fidelity to her father's
wishes. The matter did not stay with him long,
for he knew that Mr. Maston's reluctance to
interfere would soon vanish and remembered
the determination in his face the preceding day.
George might have sympathized with Lee's
plight had they ever been close friends, but for
years there had been increasing ill-will between
them. He knew that the disappointment coming
to the other was richly merited, and had not for-
29


THE UNSEEN JURY
gotten, moreover, the bitterness with which Lee
had spoken that very evening.
Ruth adjusted her cloak. “What makes you
so serious to-night? I hardly know what to
make of you, and that's strange for I usually read
you so perfectly! Don't I?”
“Are you quite sure you can tell what I’m
thinking ! I’m not so certain about that.”
The trees by the roadside were less numerous as
they neared home, and the brilliancy of the night
grew more pervasive.
“I saw you dancing with Miss Ramsey this
evening,” Ruth smiled, “she is beautiful, is she
not ?”
“Yes, and she must have thought me vastly en-
tertained by what she said, but all the time I was
remembering her as she used to come over to
play with you a dozen years ago. Now her hair
is that auburn one would walk miles to see, but in
those days she’d nearly cry if you looked at her.”
“Everything has changed in Woodford since
then, has n’t it?” When next Ruth spoke her
voice had lost its merriment and she trembled
slightly. “Did you notice anything odd about
Lee this evening?”
“He—he seemed rather upset about something,
I thought. But he was far and away the best-
looking man there.”
3O


THE BEGINNINGS OF ENMITY
“I’m worried about him; it frightens me to think
sometimes. What sort of a man do you imagine
he’ll be as he grows older?”
“He will,” George began, then stopped, not car-
ing to state what seemed most likely. “It’s hard
to say just what he will do. He’s a man of big pos-
sibilities and has qualities that attract people to
him. He might do something great, if he had the
opportunity and put all his soul into it.” They
had now reached the house. “If Lee could be
made to try, nobody knows what he might do!”
George added with conviction.
3I


CHAPTER IV
THE BREACH OPENS
HOW strangely mingled sometimes are the con-
trasts in life and nature. The leaves rustle mer-
rily and the birds sing their softest love-notes on
the scene of a great battle. Or the day spreads
over the earth its grandeur of saffron and crimson
just as a man numb and broken, after long hours
with iron fingers crushing his heart, faces alone his
path of desolation.
George Hunter gave no heed during these
days in Woodford to possible future misfortune.
His enjoyment of the time immediately follow-
ing his return was keen and its memory de-
lightful, for it was the happiest part of his life
thus far. This was due in part to the entire ab-
sence of business cares. Thoughts of his pro-
fession had slipped from mind with the closing
of his office door and he did not let them return.
Ruth, however, was the cause of his greatest joy.
They were together constantly and he came to
know her with fresh clearness of understanding.
She seemed natural and unaffected as when they
had played together as children, nor had her good-
32


THE BREACH OPENS
fellowship at all abated. They drove and walked
and sailed the lake, becoming better friends with
every day. Her frankness with him increased
as she grew older, and he knew she asked his ad-
vice on matters with which she never troubled
her father.
Ruth's attitude toward her father touched
George deeply. Ever since the break in Mr.
Maston's health she had shown him an attention
that often brought remonstrance, and since her
mother's death had showered upon him the richest
love of her heart, adding to this devotion a pride
that outweighed all else. She seemed always try-
ing to fill the vacant place in his life. Between
them there was perfect sympathy.
Quite as strongly as George enjoyed Ruth’s
bearing toward her father, he disliked her fond-
ness for Lee Davidson. She must have known
how far the man stood below her, yet her regard
for him was strong and sincere. George made it
a point to be extremely cautious in everything he
said about Lee. No one could have raised ob-
jections to Davidson, however, save on the ground
of character. His appearance was striking, he
was well-built and strong physically. His face al-
ways drew a second look. Masses of light hair
over a high forehead set off the smiling mockery
of the eyes which held strong fascination hidden
33


THE UNSEEN JURY
away in their blue depths. But already his moral
flabbiness had begun to show. There was a
coarseness of expression, and a suggestion of the
animal about the lips that bespoke his inward
nature.
George said nothing to Ruth of his former dis-
like and growing aversion to Lee. He felt that
his personal feeling might warp his judgment, and
preferred moreover that Davidson's discomfiture
should come wholly on Mr. Maston's initiative.
When Lee came to the house, George managed
to be strictly courteous, though at some effort.
He detested his shallowness and the selfish confi-
dence with which he sought to bend everything to
his will. For all his laughing, graceful manner,
Davidson was thoroughly cold at heart, with mind
for naught but his own ends.
For a day or two Lee had seemed to be hold-
ing aloof, but one afternoon he came over, tennis
racket in hand. “What do you say to a game?”
he called to George on the shady veranda, point-
ing to the court behind the house.
The heat was unbearable for any but an en-
thusiast of the sport, yet George reluctantly closed
his book. He would meet the act of friendliness
half way.
Lee took the first set handily, but it left him
heated and short of breath. His condition showed
34


THE BREACH OPENS
the lack of exercise and that he had recently been
careless of himself. The second set started his
way, but after several rash strokes he became im-
patient. His errors gradually put him behind.
The score fluctuated from deuce to 'vantage, and
George was only two points from winning the set.
Lee worked him over to the right of the court,
then with a fierce ground stroke sent the ball
toward the extreme left. But he had miscalculated
and it stuck in the net. He murmured something
to himself, but the next rally gave him another
easy chance. He ran to the net, taking the ball
shoulder high and smashed it with all his force.
It landed at least six inches beyond the base line.
“Damn this racket!” he exclaimed in disgust,
throwing it violently to the ground. “I’ve not
made a clean stroke to-day !” He flung himself
on the steps leading up the terrace, and wiped his
red and steaming face. “Suppose we play that
third set after it gets cooler? I did n’t begin to
know how hot it was.”
George stretched himself on the grass in ac-
quiescence.
Lee glanced to the house but no one was in
sight. “George, I’ve wanted to talk some more
to you ever since the other night at the dance.”
His voice was in a whisper and he looked steadily
at a spear of grass. “I’ve been thinking over
35


THE UN SEEN J U RY
what I said then, and I see I went too far. I only
hope you did n’t take offence. We’ve been friends
a long time, and I want to take you a little further
into my confidence.”
His approach was transparent, and the protest
of friendship a trifle strained. “You can count
on my keeping to myself all you care to say,”
George answered.
“You know that I’m in love with Ruth and have
been a long time ’’’
4 & YeS.”
“You also know that she loves me.”
“I don’t know that. She’s a good friend of
yours, but probably will go no further unless her
father changes his attitude.”
“Ah!” Lee burst out, “that’s just it. That’s
what I want to talk to you about again. I want
you to influence Mr. Maston to change his mind.”
The proposal was amusing in a way, but
George did not smile. “It would n’t be easy to do
that. I don’t believe I could influence him as
you wish.”
“Oh, yes, you could. He thinks more of your
opinion than of any other man's. Now that time
when I was in the city two weeks ago and he
learned what happened 9%
“I did n’t know you were there,” George said
coldly, to the suspicion in Lee's eyes.
36


THE BREACH OPENS
“Well, he learned it somehow and looked at it in
the worst manner possible. You could easily have
made him consider it a better way. Lots of men
do such things and you could influence Mr. Mas-
ton to treat me differently.”
“I think not, and besides I don’t want him to
change his mind.”
“Why?” Lee demanded abruptly, “why don't
you want him to change?” He repeated the
question as George hesitated.
“The best man living is n’t worthy of Ruth, but
you’re altogether too far away from her.”
“What are you driving at Oh, ha! I see
what you mean. It’s because I’ve led a some-
what happy life and you think that makes me un-
fit !” He rolled to his coat for his cigarettes, then
sank back full length, his arms extended on the
grass. A sarcastic sneer came to his lips.
“That’s the soft stuff they teach kids in Sunday-
school, is n’t it? How a man can live in a city
even six months without losing his fool ideas, I
don’t see. No man who keeps awake can help
knowing how the world goes, and how much
actual goodness there is floating around.”
“You can always find what you’re looking for,
evil or anything else, and you don’t have to go
out of your own block. I’ve no desire to argue
the point, but you’re one of the people who
37


THE UNSEEN JURY
judge the world only by the bad things they see
in it.”
“That has nothing to do with what we’re talk-
ing about,” Lee exclaimed impatiently, a subtle
eagerness in his voice. “I want you to see just
where I stand. I admit that my life has n’t been
up to some people's ideals, but what difference
does that make? Why should that prevent my
marrying Ruth? Experience in the world is a
good thing for a man. Even if I have been a
little wild, I’d brace up after marriage. Any
number do that!”
His manner was rasping and his tone domineer-
ing. “Yes,” George said bluntly, “there have
been cases.”
Lee crushed one of the tennis balls in his hand.
“That talk makes me tired. What I want to
know is this: Are you going to help me with
Mr. Maston ?”
“NO.”
“All right, then l’” Lee sprang to his feet.
“I’ve done my best, and I’m not responsible for
anything that follows l”
“What do you mean?”
“Just this. Call me a hot-headed fool if you
want to, but don't forget what I say. No man
in this world is going to prevent my marrying
38


THE BREACH OPENS
Ruth Maston. And another thing, George
Hunter !” There was angry menace in the poise
of his head. “I see through you. Look out for
trouble between us!”
39


CHAPTER V
A DAY ON THE MOUNTAIN
OFF in the hazy blue-gray distance, ten or a
dozen miles from Woodford, a small mountain
rises from the neighbouring hills and valleys,
its green slopes suggesting coolness and rest on
the most sultry days. Ruth could not dispel from
her mind the idea that her father was seriously ill,
and tried in many ways to divert him. One morn-
ing she suggested that they make the mountain
trip as in the old years. By ten o'clock the rig
was at the door.
For a time they followed the lake road; then,
turning sharply to the left, entered a low grove
of trees. That day brought back early mem-
ories as the road, winding through the woods,
kept falling and rising before them. Ruth's hap-
piness grew with every mile.
“Look, George l’” she laughed, glancing toward
a scraggy hillside thickly covered with bushes,
“here’s where you brought me huckleberrying
once and could n’t remember the way back. We
might be here still if John had n’t come after us
toward evening.”
The old coachman chuckled deep in his throat
4O


A DAY ON THE MOUNTAIN
and pointed with his whip. “You was just goin'
over that hill, Miss Ruth, when I caught sight of
you. Them bushes all around hid the turn of the
road, an’ you was goin' straight away from it.
Your mother was nervous before I got back with
you both.” He gave a sudden twitch to the reins
and a gruff word to the horses.
Mr. Maston leaned forward in his kindliest man-
ner. “How long have you been with us, John?
You're quite one of the family now. Twenty
years, is n’t it?”
“Twenty-two, sir, twenty-two come August !”
the man answered proudly.
As they neared the mountain, the green masses
of pine and fir stood out in differing shade, with
many a deep gulch and bulging cliff. Soon the
road grew rough and the going difficult, and in
making the ascent they circled the entire moun-
tain. At length, a quarter of a mile from the sum-
mit, the driveway ended in a clump of stunted
trees, and the journey was finished afoot.
Full noon awaited them at the highest point.
Beneath, undulating green stretched away, broken
here and there by granite ledges or the yellow
road among the trees. Mr. Maston pointed to a
fleck of white on the indistinct horizon. “That's
our house, but does n’t it look small from here?”
Ruth had stepped to one side for a flower grow-
4 I


THE UNSEEN JURY
ing in a cleft of rock. “I wonder if all our troubles,
once we get away from them, will seem as small
as that house does?” He ran a hand through his
hair, wearily.
He gazed on the landscape below, clearly de-
fined now that the morning haze had burned away,
his attention fixed on some vague point. He
seemed entirely alone, and started involuntarily
when Ruth placed her hand on his arm. “I must
have been dreaming,” he laughed. “That’s a bad
habit for a man my years.”
He assumed light-heartedness and began point-
ing out remembered objects through the surround-
ing country. So clear was the air that the eye
made little of miles of distance. After the better
part of an hour had slipped by, they descended to
find the horses baited, and the coachman unstrap-
ping a hamper.
Ruth unfolded a cloth, spreading it over a piece
of smooth turf, while John went down the moun-
tainside a score of rods for some cold water. Mr.
Maston's eyes followed Ruth fondly as she passed
from the hamper to her improvised table, or paused
to remove some insect curiosity that had crawled
many-legged over the white surface.
In the months to come, George often saw that
hour as they sat together on the ground, with Mr.
Maston telling stories and Ruth presiding over the
42


A DAY ON THE MOUNTAIN
feast, constantly alert and happy, while delicate
clouds drifted above the gently moving foliage,
and adventurous squirrels drew near with friendly
interest to scamper away in swift terror when any-
body moved.
Lunch over, John bundled the things together
and returned them to the hamper. Mr. Maston
lit a cigar and stretched himself on a mossy slope,
his soft hat over his face, his eyes shielded from
the sun, glowing dully.
“Thank you, dear,” he murmured as Ruth
placed a shawl under his head, “I’m quite com-
fortable now and shall take a nap as soon as my
cigar is gone. You walk with George awhile, and
we’ll go home when I wake up.”
Ruth did not at once obey, but sat by his side,
her voice more dreaming with every moment.
Finally she rose and tiptoed away. “Father's
asleep,” she smiled lovingly back. “Now let's
find the little spring that used to be behind those
rocks. He'll be asleep for an hour yet.”
The sun fell warmly upon her as they walked
on, and she glanced often, with pride and an added
love, to Mr. Maston's relaxed figure. Her hap-
piness shone brighter with every step.
“Is n’t it glorious to be simply living a day like
this?” she asked, watching a snowy cloud-pyra-
mid gather in the south.
43


THE UN SEEN J U RY
The first deep green of summer was about them,
mountain purity in the air and the enthusiasm of
youth in their blood. Contentment came to
George Hunter's heart, and in the genial sunshine
a golden mist of happiness swam before him. His
thoughts were all to the future. Once Lee Da-
vidson's developing enmity came to mind, but he
dismissed it without ado and it left no cloud on
his joy.
“See our little spring. But does n’t it look
small !” Ruth said in surprise. “Or is that be-
cause we have changed so much?” She kneeled
down plunging her hands into the stone basin that
collected the water, and the slender fingers came
up dripping, with sunlight flashes from the crystal
drops.
George fell to the ground, one arm resting
against a rock. The mountain breezes were full
of exhilaration. The sky seemed bluer, the trees
greener, and the air pulsing with richer life. So
quiet it was that the sound of a friendly voice
seemed somehow out of place. Ruth sat on the
opposite side of the spring, a slight growth of
fern behind her. In the sunlight lingering affec-
tionately on the grassy slopes, their happiness
grew almost exultant. Somewhere in the soft
stillness a feathered lover was trilling his affec-
tions.
44


A DAY ON THE MOUNTAIN
They talked idle nothings for a time, then Ruth's
mood became earnest. “What would you rather
do of all things in the world?” she demanded.
George turned into more comfortable position
and tossed a pebble into the water. “That’s easy
enough to answer. Lie right here for the next
hour and let you talk to me. It’s an endless
pleasure trying to guess what you’ll say next.”
Ruth's expression was midway between a frown
and laughter. “Don’t be foolish I Seriously
now. Tell me about it. What is your highest
ideal? If every opportunity were open to you,
what would you choose?”
He clasped his hands behind his head and
looked off down the valley, his eyes half-closed
and wistful. Some great bird—the only sign of
motion about them—circled black and solitary in
the distance.
“I’m not thinking this minute of what I want
to get,” he began half-musingly, “I’m thinking
of something I want to do. All lawyers long for
professional success, but it is not that I want most
Of all !”
“You don’t want professional success, chiefly?
What is it, George?”
He sat erect and plucked a flower from the
ledge, letting the petals fall singly into the tiny
stream that escaped from the pool. “I’ve been
45


THE UNSEEN JURY
thinking a great deal lately of the men who do
good work that nobody remembers. There are a
few dozen figures in history that stand high, but
just think of the thousands quite as deserving that
are absolutely forgotten. The men, for instance,
who were born to be cowards, and yet when the
time came stood up to their duty. Or the ones
who were selfish by nature and yet in some big
event proved themselves the opposite. Or the
men who held on to some hard task, when they
wanted most of all to give up and let go. That’s
it, that’s the best of all perhaps. The men
who have done their duty and nobody knows
about it!”
Ruth would hardly have been recognized as the
light-hearted questioner of a moment before. Her
lips were parted, her eyes soft with feeling. “The
men who have done their duty and nobody knows
about it,” she repeated in a whisper. “Father says
that the most impressive soldier's monument he
knows is a pine board on an unknown grave near
a swamp.”
“I never expect to be an extreme example like
that of mytheory,” George continued. “I’d rather
be somewhat more definite. As a rule I expect to
be recompensed for what I do, but at least once
in my life I’d like a chance to do a great service
for somebody I cared for, and to be able to forget
46


A DAY ON THE MOUNTAIN
myself entirely while doing it. The act would be
still pleasanter to remember if nobody knew I had
done it.”
“And after that?”
He sank back idly. “Oh, I never went any
further. But is n’t this afternoon too good to be
true? I’d like to stay by this spring forever.”
“We’d better not, though. Suppose we walk
down the mountain a little further and then come
back before Father and John start to organize
searching parties.”
The heat of the day lessened as the shadows
grew long, and they climbed the mountainside
again with the sun at their backs. The coachman
rose from where he had been sitting, back to a
tree, pocketed his pipe and went to the horses.
Mr. Maston stirred uneasily in his sleep as Ruth
touched his shoulder. “You must n’t,” he mur-
mured, “you mustn't do it!” Then he mumbled
something that could not be understood.
Ruth drew her fingers, once, twice, across his
forehead. At the third cool pressure, Mr. Maston
sat up, enclosing the hand in his own.
“Back again?” he asked, and for a moment did
not release her. He glanced at his watch. “Why,
I’ve been asleep nearly two hours. We must be
starting at once 1”
Mr. Maston's expression was over-cast as they
47


THE UN SEEN JURY
walked to the carriage. “I’ve had some of the
strangest dreams lately. Everything that could
be imagined seems happening, and some of the
things are far from pleasant.”
He was extremely silent as the road fell rapidly
before them, and over the miles to Woodford, the
sunlight full in their faces. Ruth made up for his
quietness by an increased vivacity.
“To-day will be worth remembering, will it
not?” she asked happily as they neared home.
48


CHAPTER VI
MR. MASTON'S DISCOVERY
THE next afternoon George was alone in the
library. For an hour he had been reading, or hold-
ing a book in his hand, but now he had laid it down,
his eyes abstracted.
Mr. Maston came into the room. “Have you
noticed this binding, George?” He took a dainty
volume from its case with the expression of an ap-
preciative lover of good books and pointed out the
beauties of the edition. Suddenly he stopped, with
a sentence unfinished. Lee Davidson's careless,
happy laugh came through the windows to where
they were standing, and the low murmur of voices
reached them. The animation passed from Mr.
Maston’s face. He closed the book, returned it to
its case and lowered the door.
“George, I must have a frank talk with you,” he
said, drawing up a chair with extreme deliberation.
“I’ve intended this for some time, but have n’t
quite had the courage.”
He crossed the adjoining room and gently closed
the windows opening on the veranda. His walk
was uncertain and his appearance haggard.
When he reseated himself his face was supported
49


THE UN SEEN JURY
by his hands. “I’m growing an old man now, and
there are certain things you must understand.
Ruth's future is wearing upon me. Every day I
am more anxious about her. I want your help.”
“You should n’t feel such anxiety about Ruth !
Things are coming out all right, I’m certain.”
Mr. Maston lifted a trembling hand, then paused
to put into his words fuller meaning. “I am more
and more anxious about Ruth. I continually think
of the misfortunes that may come to her. Should
anything happen to me you’d be the only one left
to look out for her !”
He smiled tenderly at the quick protest against
belief in approaching ill-health, but his solemnity
still remained. He sank back, toying with the
fringe from a little table. “Of course I have said
nothing about it to Ruth, and you will not repeat
my words, but for months I have had a presenti-
ment that I shall not live long. I have always
been an extremely nervous man and recently have
felt myself nearing the breaking-down point. You
probably have guessed the illness I’ve had for
years, though nobody else in Woodford knows it.
I am not sleeping well and that makes my condi-
tion worse. I try to look hopefully at the future,
but I know that I shall soon reach the place,” he
caught his breath and his face went white, “where
all the doctors in the world will be useless.”
5Q


MR. MASTON'S DISCOVERY
“Nonsense, Uncle Tom | You must n’t talk like
that. You may live twenty years yet !”
George said no more. A hidden suffering came
into Mr. Maston’s eyes. With deep conviction he
leaned forward, bringing his face very close. “I
don’t think it, George, I don’t think it, but that is
something neither of us can tell definitely. I want
you to know what I wish done, should anything
happen to me. There’s nobody in the world so
well able to protect Ruth, should I die, as your-
self. You are young and strong and I need no as-
surance of the love you bear me. Fortunately,
there’ll be no worry over money matters. I shall
leave enough to take care of Ruth, and there’ll be
something more to guard you against misfortune,
should your present hopes miscarry.”
“But you must n’t talk of dying. It’s time that
Ruth and I should be taking care of you, not you
of us.”
“I’ve made you one of the executors of my
will,” Mr. Maston continued, “to serve with my
brother. He’s an old man now, several years
older even than I, so that even if he qualifies, it's
not likely that he could do much of the work in
settling matters. He knows what I think, so the
business cares after my death will largely fall
upon you. But it is n’t business that troubles me.
It's Ruth ! No man will ever know how I have
5 I


THE UNSEEN JURY
longed for her happiness, especially during these
last five years.”
A reminiscent smile broke over Mr. Maston's
face. “When you were a boy, I used to watch
you playing with Ruth, and think how happy I’d
be if some day you became still closer friends. I
never mentioned my desire to you or to her, for
such things must come of themselves. Now I
know that you will always be very dear to each
other, but I no longer look forward to your marry-
ing. You’re so buried in your profession that
there's slight likelihood of your being greatly ab-
sorbed by any other interest.”
“What are your plans for Ruth?”
“The various questions that may come up of
course I cannot foretell. But one thing is certain.
Lee Davidson,” Mr. Maston glanced involuntarily
toward the window, “must n’t marry her. I love
the boy, but the way he's living, it would be
criminal in me to let him have her. If he keeps
on as he is now going, I’d rather see Ruth in her
grave than the wife of the man he'll be at forty!
“And so,” something of Mr. Maston's former
strength came back with his new determination,
“I’m going to break it off between them. I’ve
been more than patient with Lee, and have used
all gentle means of persuading him to a different
life. Now I shall use force. He shall not marry
52


MR. MASTON'S DISCOVERY
her, and in a day or two he will understand the
hopelessness of his desire. George, you must
promise me something.”
“Yes P.”
“Remember all I have told you, and should
there ever be danger of Ruth's marrying Lee after
I am not here, tell her what I have said. Be per-
fectly open with her. It will be sufficient when
she knows that it is my voice that she shall not
marry him. Do you promise?”
“Might not that come better from an older man
— your brother, for instance?”
“No, I wish you to do it. Will you promise?”
There was silence. “Surely, Uncle Tom, it
would be much more fitting 99
“Will you promise?”
“I can’t do it. I must refuse. It would n’t be
quite honourable.”
“Not honourable to deliver such a message?
You surprise me. I don’t understand.”
George faced him. “I can't interfere with any
other man's love for Ruth, because above all the
world I love her myself and want to marry her l”
“You do?” Wonder came into Mr. Maston’s
face. “You care for Ruth that way? Your feel-
ings have been so well covered that I never guessed
it. Is it the dearest wish in your life that you
should marry her?” He rose, deep happiness
53


THE UNSEEN JURY
supplanting the wonder and amazement. “My
boy,” he said, his hands dropping on George's
shoulders, “it’s my wish, too !”
For some time they talked together, Mr. Mas-
ton's voice hopeful, his manner kindliness and
good will. He seemed relieved as to the future
and took comfort in the thought that his early
hopes were in the course of realization. His de-
spondency had vanished for the time in the sur-
prise following the news that had come to him.
“Of course, there is one condition behind my
telling you this,” George said when he came to
leave, “that you shall not say one word to Ruth
in my favour, nor do anything to assist me. If I
am the man to win and keep her love, I want to
do it of myself!”
He walked out on the veranda. Lee and Ruth
were sitting together, their heads outlined against
a background of sky. He was leaning toward
her, with longing in every aspect of his handsome
figure. In Ruth's face embarrassment mingled
with regret and pain.
George drew back, but Lee turned with a
smothered exclamation. “Oh, it’s you !” The
angry blood retreated from his cheeks. “I did n’t
hear you till you were right on us.”
He quickly regained his outward composure,
only the glint of his blue eyes showing the turmoil
54


MR. MASTON'S DISCOVERY
within. He sought, but vainly, to lead the con-
versation through ordinary channels. “Oh !” he
said, “I nearly forgot. Bill Timmons was coming
over to see me this afternoon. I’d better trundle
along or he’ll get tired waiting.”
He sauntered down the drive, his shadow stretch-
ing far ahead. They watched him, little furrows
coming into Ruth's forehead. “I wish,” she whis-
pered, nervously clasping her hands, “I wish Lee
would be reasonable. He’s more insistent every
day that Father is treating him unjustly. It is n’t
so much from what he says, as his manner in say-
ing it, and the way he looks. I’m afraid there 'll
be open trouble between them soon. You don’t
know how this hurts me! Poor old Father How
feeble he is growing, and what comfort I ought to
be to him l”
Her lip trembled and a slant of sunlight through
the westward trees falling on her hair tinged it
with gold. “I hate myself! I hate myself when
I think of the worry I’m causing him l”
Determination began to displace the uncertainty
in her eyes. Her head was erect, her will reso-
lute. George Hunter's heart grew light, yet some-
how he felt a throb of sympathy for Lee Davidson.
55


CHAPTER VII
AN APPROACHING CRISIS
WHO will sing the coming of love to a man's
heart? Not the brief evanescent passion that
rises on the surface and hastens its way through
caprice and selfishness to the inevitable hot dust
of satiety, but rather the silent stream that starts
in subterranean caverns and increases in volume
till at length after long and invisible years it
emerges clear and resistless.
George often thought that his whole life had
been a preparation for the love Ruth had awakened
in him. No father's care could have been more
tender than that with which Mr. Maston had en-
circled his life, and yet little of his true nature had
come to light. As a boy quietness and solitude
had seemed necessary to him, and his enjoyment
of them still continued. This trait had brought a
reserve behind which ideals and hopes were safely
hidden. A love for Ruth had grown up in his
innermost heart and had slumbered there uncon-
scious till now, bursting forth, it was overwhelming
him. Yet he knew that she did not suspect his
feeling. A tumult of happiness was surging
56


AN APPROACH IN G CRISIS
through him, and Mr. Maston himself had been
blind to the change.
In the heavy months that followed George took
rest and inspiration in remembering Ruth as she
then was. Even in repose her face suggested
sympathy and comradeship. Once in the early
evening they had gone to a knoll above the house
to catch the last blendings of sunset colours over
the western hills. The most vivid glories had
faded, leaving only a mellow flush, and this too
was dying. They entered the summer-house and
Ruth lightly gathering her skirts about her, made
room on the narrow bench.
“I wish you did n’t have to go away so soon,”
she murmured, her profile dark against the warm
sky and with something equalling the regret of her
voice, “home does n’t seem just like home with-
out you here.”
“I’m not going day after to-morrow because I
want to. It will be harder leaving this time than
ever before !”
Far below the surface the desire of his life was
calling for assertion. Weeks before, he had come
to the question, was he ever to love Ruth in a new
way, and constantly since then the answer had
been in his heart. Deep in his subconsciousness,
through the long years he had known her, that
other love had been growing. Its existence
57


THE UN SEEN J U RY
formerly might have been matter of conjecture,
but now its power over him could not be doubted.
He cast aside all thought of Lee Davidson's
rivalry. Ruth had never seemed so near him
as at that moment, and his hope increased that
some day she might come to a love equalling his
OWn.
“You don't know how much we have enjoyed
your being home,” the soft voice went on in tones
that thrilled him. “Father was talking about it
only yesterday. He says that I must always come
to you for advice and help. The last few weeks
have been hard, and your being here a little while
has comforted me, I can’t tell you how much.
I'd envy girls with brothers of their own if it
were n’t for you!”
There in the secluded summer-house, Ruth's
shadowy figure beside him — graceful, delicate,
soul-appealing – urged George on. She sug-
gested to his fevered mind possibilities of happi-
ness he had never dreamed, and breathed upon
him hope and peace and spiritual exaltation. It
was the highest living he had yet reached. He
started to lay bare the secret of his heart, to learn
whether her regard for him, once she knew his
feeling, was greater than it could be for any other.
He leaned forward, willing to rest his whole future
on that instant, to speak the brief, hesitating
58


AN APPROACHING CRISIS
words that should decide all, and then - and
then —
“George,” Ruth said, “I want to ask you some-
thing.” In her preoccupation she had not noticed
his tense mood, nor his grip on the back of the
seat. Her voice was perplexity and dread. “I’m
frightened, I’m frightened at Lee. He tries to
keep it from me, but I know he’s angry at you
and Father. Do you think there’s any danger ?
I’m nervous whenever I think of him l’’
“Oh, Lee does n’t mean anything,” George sank
back, suppressing the thoughts that had been
burning for utterance. “You must n’t take what
he says too seriously.” He continued to assure
her that her fears were groundless, but made no
move to put into words the supreme desire of his
heart. The reason for his self-restraint was not
far to seek. His contempt for Lee Davidson had
returned in full measure, and with it a thought of
the bitterness between them that promised open
enmity. His confidence in Ruth told him that the
man's hopes must end in disappointment. He
wanted it to come without his interference. He
knew that it would be to Ruth's final happiness to
have refused Lee with no thought that another
was waiting.
And Lee himself had an indirect influence.
George had said nothing and done nothing to
59


THE UN SEEN J U RY
change either of the Mastons, but the accusation
had been made, and at the mention of Lee's name
his taunts returned. It was a matter of pride with
George to give the man every last chance in the
world. In his strength he felt willing to delay.
Should Ruth come to him naturally, and not as to
an alternative, it would be to his happiness to have
waited.
“We’ve been happy together this time of your
being home, have n’t we?” Ruth asked.
“Yes, indeed. Uncle Tom and you and I are
nearer than ever before. And now for some news.
There’s a week's work at the office for me, but
once that is done I’m coming back for a few days
more.”
Ruth clapped her hands impulsively, not catch-
ing his intensity of feeling. “Good | You don’t
know how glad I am l”
Happiness was vibrant in George Hunter's
heart. He thought of his purpose in returning to
Woodford after the brief week. If his hopes were
then realized and Ruth's love answered his, he
wondered what new meanings life would hold and
what changed outlook the world give him.
The night had completely fallen when they came
down. Much of their time in the summer-house
had been passed in silence, with the complete un-
derstanding of those whose friendship is old and
6O


THE UNSEEN JURY
Ruth, and with standing behind Mr. Maston's op-
position. George smiled at thought of Lee's ex-
pression could he know how keen the rivalry be-
tween them had become, and the effort that would
soon be made to render his hopes impossible of
achievement.
Though Lee came often to the house and spoke
courteously, George always was conscious of anger
not far distant. Save the few occasions of losing
his head, Lee had kept this anger well concealed.
One marked change, however, had come over
him. He was still willing to disclose his mind to
people and to express his feelings without stint.
But with Ruth he was now guarded and reserved
in all he said. George took this new-found reti-
cence to be nothing but an attempt to hide the
growing resentment against her father.
The days following George's return to Wood-
ford, Lee had resented his monopoly of Ruth's
time, but he never manifested this to her notice.
There was growing restlessness about him, how-
ever, and an irritability that could not be hidden.
George knew that this must soon result in some
hostile outbreak. He wondered what form the
rashness would take. No assumption of self-
restraint by Lee could hide the difficulties of the
situation.
But the man who pays attention to what his
62


AN APPROACH IN G CRISIS
enemies think of him dignifies them and wastes
valuable time. George had left Lee's anger be-
hind and forgotten what his enmity might bring
almost before he was out of sight.
63


CHAPTER VIII
LEE'S DECLARATION
A LEISURELY walk through the calm air brought
quietness of mind, removing all bitter memories.
George thought of the golden minutes just passed
with Ruth, and his hopes carrying on to the future
drew him away from enmity and ill-will.
The man on whom he called seemed likely to
further this end. Stephen Dunbar, thirty years
old, stocky, with a round face and companionable
smile had been friendly with George since boy-
hood. Of late years they had not been as close as
formerly, but George always came to see him
when in Woodford.
This evening his welcome was hearty in the ex-
treme. “The old town is getting proud of you,”
he said when, greetings over, they had seated
themselves in large wicker chairs at the coolest
side of the house, “every once in a while some-
thing comes up in your work that people like.
Your preventing the foreclosure of that Higgins
mortgage last spring is about the best. I’ve heard
a great deal said about it.”
“You misjudge Davidson on that, he did n’t
64


LEE’S DEC LARATION
understand the facts or he never would have gone
ahead,” George answered quickly, “all I did was
to look the papers in the case over and decide that
he might find some difficulties if he kept on. So
I wrote him a friendly letter, told him what I
thought of his chances, and added that some of the
circumstances would make it seem rather small,
even grasping, if he continued to press his side of
the matter.”
Dunbar smiled shrewdly. “What do you sup-
pose made Lee drop it?”
“He knew that the facts of the case were hard,
and that if he had been successful, a good deal of
suffering would have followed. I imagine that he
did n’t care to face the public sentiment that might
have resulted.”
“Public sentiment? Lee Davidson? Not on
your life! All is, he got the idea from your letter
that if he did n’t stop, you intended to take up the
other side of the case. Everybody knows that he
wants to marry Ruth Maston. He decided that it
would n’t help him along in that direction to have
you fighting him in a case like this.”
“Maybe not. Anyway, whatever his motives,
I’m mighty glad he dropped it.”
Dunbar talked of other matters awhile, but his
cheerfulness did not return to him. “George, I
want to warn you about something,” the voice
65


THE UNSEEN JURY
was apprehensive. “Davidson is down on you
for a number of reasons, and you’d better watch
him. You don't know the man as well as I do,
and of course you don’t hear what he says. He
talks a lot about you, and I think he means to
get back at you. I'd be a little careful if I were
you. There’s likely to be trouble when a man
talks that way of another l”
“I don’t anticipate anything,” George said as
they shook hands, “still I’m greatly obliged for
what you’ve told me. I’ll try to be ready if Lee
should do anything against me.”
When George reached home, Lee rose and said
good-night. There was nothing noticeable in his
words, but he carried himself with a hint of awk-
wardness. There was constraint about him, as
though he were struggling for self-control. A few
steps and he turned suddenly.
“What do you say to a little walk? It’s too fine
a night for going indoors l”
The sky was full of mellow richness, and a breeze
blew cool and stimulating after the heat of the day,
but that did not urge George to accept the in-
vitation. It was a hint in Lee's bearing of im-
pending danger that brought obligation to hear
whatever he might say. The sooner the crisis in
their relations should be met and passed, the bet-
ter.
66


LEE’S DEC LARATION
They strolled away, Lee talking in friendly
manner, with no sign of enmity. But no sooner
were they beyond Ruth's sight and hearing than
his friendliness vanished before a gust of pas-
sion.
“What in hell are we coming to !” he
ejaculated, an angry break in his voice. “I've
waited till you reached home, for there's some-
thing I must tell you!”
“I knew that when you asked me to walk.
What is it?”
The tension in the surrounding darkness an-
swered well Lee's mood. Usually the night is
soothing and takes away nervousness, but this
evening it was not so. George felt gathering de-
pression in his veins at thought of the angry, im-
pulsive man by his side, so utterly under the con-
trol of the moment.
Mr. Maston's fondness for trees had made the
place noted for the luxury of its shade. The thick
foliage that during the day gave protection from
the sun at night caused dark places with stretches
of gloom. As they wandered through the
shadows, George felt the threat of Lee's manner
strengthen.
“We’re going to have an understanding, you
and I,” the words came rapidly on the flood-tide
of anger. “I want to know something from you
67


THE UNSEEN J U RY
and know it quick. What have you been saying
to Ruth about me?”
George stopped in his tracks. “If you’re going
through all that again, I think we’ve walked far
enough already.”
Lee made no immediate answer. He came
closer, his breath short and audible. Even in the
darkness George could see that he trembled.
“You have n’t guessed what Ruth and I talked
about while you were gone, so I’ll tell you. The
reason is that you may take it as a warning. A
week ago, she told me that she’d never think of
marrying me till my character suited her father.
I thought that idle talk as she had said much the
same before. But to-night, after you left, she re-
fused me again. Now I know she means it.
Somehow, I can't quite understand, you’re at the
bottom of it. Since you’ve been back she has
seemed different to me. It's been harder to in-
fluence her as I used to do. I know that this is
because of your opposition, yours and Mr. Mas-
ton's. This interference with me is going to stop,
and you’re the man I want to know it!”
George forgot Lee's anger rising with every in-
stant. His pride in Ruth overbalanced his ap-
prehension of anything Lee might do in his ex-
citement. In his joy he did not think that this
man formerly in the way of his own happiness had
68


LEE’S DEC LARATION
by sheer folly put an end to the rivalry between
them.
“It is n’t necessary for me to repeat what you
already know. I have been perfectly fair to you,
and have n’t made the slightest effort at any time
to turn Ruth against you.”
Lee whistled under his breath, his manner
saying, “You expect me to believe that?”
“What do you think of me, anyway?” he de-
manded with angry abruptness.
“You know that, too.”
“Well, what does it matter after all?” came the
laugh of a cynic. “Who is the man he ought to
be? That is, outside the churches l”
“You’re not sincere in wanting to know what I
think,” George said after a pause. “So it’s a clear
waste of time telling you. The matter is, you
don’t care what happens. You’re not half the
man you would be if you pulled yourself to-
gether. I’m five or six years older than you are,
and I see pretty well where the trouble is. You
ought to brace up !”
A shrug of the shoulders. “You think so *"
They continued their walk, George, eager to
discover how far Lee's anger might be carried, let-
ting him talk on. Lee grumbled increasingly at
what he called Mr. Maston's injustice.
Once thoroughly angry, Lee had always parted
69


THE UN SEEN JURY
with his self-control, but George felt no personal
fear from the situation confronting him. His feel-
ing was resentment at the abuse of Mr. Maston.
Formerly Lee's courtesy toward Ruth's father had
been so marked that his present attitude was as-
tonishing. George remembered the information
that had come to him that evening, and wondered
at Lee's folly in talking openly in such manner to
outsiders not given to making allowances.
A few hundred yards from the house, at the foot
of the long slope leading by the gardens, a brook
enters the lake, widening at the point of junction
to some thirty feet. Some little distance up-
stream a covered foot-bridge spans the brook,
from whose rustic sides heavy vines droop down,
while the thick enlacing trees bring dark seclusion
on even the clearest night.
Lee rested his elbows on the rail, and peered
into the swirling waters a dozen feet below.
George did not feel a moment's regret at the
man's trouble. Lee had been given a long and
fair chance to win Ruth, but had thrown his op-
portunities recklessly to the winds. He had none
but himself to thank for the disappointment given
him. The happiness George knew at thought of
Ruth told him the bitterness of Lee's feeling, but
it drew out no sympathy. Enough men there are
in the world whose misfortunes come without fault
7o


LEE’S DEC LARATION
of their own, and to these one's sympathy may
more profitably be directed. George exulted at
the joy Ruth might some day bring into his life,
and so drifted still further away from Lee, with no
sorrow that the man should have come at last to
his just deserts.
Beneath them the stream murmured its cheery
monotone over the sharp stones at the sides, while
in the middle the waters full of mystery tumbled
and twisted in dark eddies. The moonlight sift-
ing through the myriad rustling leaves fell in
white patches on the floor of the bridge and the
creaming waters below. Once it rested on Lee's
curly hair and his face bitter and vengeful.
He watched the flashing waters and his mood
grew more hostile. “You know that it’s only
Mr. Maston's crazy prejudice that prevents my
marrying Ruth. He has n’t treated me fairly 1”
“No, no! Mr. Maston never treated any man
unfairly 1”
Lee swore something. He was fast working
himself into one of his frightful tempers where
any act of rashness would be possible. George
watched him amazed at his folly.
“You don't in the slightest understand what
you’ve been saying. One of these days you’ll
wake up and find that you have n’t a better friend
on earth than Mr. Maston is l”
7I


THE UNSEEN JURY
“I should think you would call him a fine man,”
Lee sneered; “if it was n’t for him and his money,
where'd you be now, I’d like to know? Every-
thing you have you owe to him l”
“Quite true, and I never expect to be able to
repay the debt, either. But I don't see where you
come in on this. Anyway, I sha’n’t stay here all
night while you run him down. Mr. Maston treats
you as a friend, but he does intend that you
sha’n’t marry Ruth till you’re more of a man than
there’s any chance now of your ever being. No
one who knows the world can look at your face a
second without seeing how totally unfit you are
for a girl like Ruth. It’s useless your trying to
win either her or her father over now. You’ve
lost Ruth, but don't you think she’d like it if you
stood up straight and showed a little dignity
in your disappointment?
“And another thing: You may wonder why
I’ve stayed out here so long, when ordinarily I
should have cut you short and gone home. It's
because I wanted to hear you through and then
ask you a favour. You hate Mr. Maston and
you hate me. He’s old and ill and besides he’s
too good a man to be hated by you. I want you
to give your enmity all to me. And there’s an-
other favour. You’re my enemy, but you owe
me some respect. You're a full-grown man — I
72


“Do YoU KNow what wou LD HAPPEN To ANY MAN who INTERFERED
witH ME?”—Page 73.





LEE’S DEC LARATION
suppose you call yourself one — and I wish you'd
be a full-grown enemy of mine. It looks so young
for you to go around this town telling people
what you’ll do to me. Stop talking and do it!
That would be in much better tastel”
The unbearable arrogance in Lee's manner had
carried George far, but the tones of his voice were
more stinging than the words had been. For a
moment Lee drew back at a denunciation he had
never received. Then his anger returned. He
walked back and forward on the bridge, mumbling
to himself. Suddenly he turned, shaking with
emotion. He was taller and stronger than George
and had lost all self-restraint. He almost sprang
forward.
“Do you know what would happen to any
man who had prevented my marrying Ruth ? I’d
kill him without reluctance | I’d show him that
I’m not the man to be trifled with ! I’d —”
“STOP | Take your hand off my shoulder and
cool down. That is rubbish, every word of it,
and you don’t mean it!”
Without a word of farewell, George had gone
and was some half-dozen paces from the bridge
when quick footsteps sounded behind. Lee, seiz-
ing him by the shoulder, whirled him around so
violently that he nearly fell.
“You’ve been putting Ruth Maston up to all
73


THE UNSEEN JURY
this l You’ve told everything you know about
me, and you’ve done it, I see why well enough,
you’ve done it just to get her for yourself You
say you have n’t, but that’s a damned lie | You’re
a sneak and a coward, and, by God, George
Hunter, I’ll make you — I’ll — I'll **
He stood there, speechless, his teeth locked
from excitement, his face the face of a savage.
At that moment he would have followed any im-
pulse, for he was utterly a slave of passion.
George Hunter's hand clenched by his side
slowly opened. He mastered himself and his
anger became contempt, in gesture, in expression
so strong that it somewhat quieted the other. “I
don’t take insults from a man who ought to be in
a straight-jacket !” he said curtly, and walked
away.
24


CHAPTER IX
GEORGE GIVES ADVICE
GEORGE climbed the hill, revolving Lee's folly,
and pondering to himself the misfortunes of one
whose high-strung nature has passed beyond con-
trol. He felt no personal fear from the threats he
had just heard, but it filled him with bitterness to
know that Davidson was recklessly making them,
and worse still, repeating them to others.
He could not fathom the man's outspoken atti-
tude toward Mr. Maston. Nothing could be
gained by empty threatenings, and even Ruth's
friendship must be lost to Lee should she ever
learn in full his antagonism to her father.
By the time George reached the house, his
resentment had passed somewhat, and he looked
back on the path by which he had risen, the wind
freshly blowing in his face. The night was mo-
tionless, with silent grandeur over all, but he was
in no mood for listening to its appeal. The time
just passed with Lee Davidson was constantly in
mind, and as his feelings grew calm, strong regret
bore in upon him at thought of the man's rash-
75


THE UNSEEN J U RY
ness in throwing all his opportunities to the
winds.
The house was dark and George entered with-
out noise. When half way to his room, a door
opened.
“Sh-h-h-h!” Ruth came toward him, finger
on lips. “Father has n’t been sleeping at all well
lately. We must n’t disturb him.” Her face,
tense in the dim light, was full of dread. “George,
where did you go?” She nervously seated her-
self on a window seat built at a bend of the stairs.
“I’ve been waiting a long time now for you to
come in.”
“We walked around the place for a time, and
then went to the bridge. Uncle Tom often comes
there for his smoke, but to-night we did n’t see
him. It’s glorious weather now, and there’ll be
plenty of wind for our last sail to-morrow.”
Ruth's hands were clasped in apprehension.
“What were you and Lee talking about?”
“He told me some of his plans, and we spoke
of Uncle Tom and, then we talked of various mat-
ters.” George glanced at his watch. “Why, it’s
after twelve o’clock | I must n’t keep you up this
way.”
He had risen, but a hand on his sleeve drew
him back.
“I know what it was. Lee did n’t ask you to
76


GEORGE GIVES ADVICE
walk for any ordinary reason. You’ve been talk-
ing about me, or you wouldn't be so uneasy now,
nor so anxious to get away. What were you say-
ing?” Fear spoke in the soft voice and wrinkled
her forehead. “What were you saying?” she
persisted.
George could not bring himself to talk of Lee's
bitterness toward her father, nor of his threats and
the uncurbed temper behind them. Her suffering
was sufficient without that.
“Lee knows that Uncle Tom doesn’t consider
him the man he should be. He’s been thinking
it over, and wanted a frank talk with me.”
“But that is n’t all! You went further than that,
I know. You’ve been very angry with him, and
are now trying to keep it from me.”
George smiled slightly. “It’s well that all peo-
ple can’t follow me as you do. Yes, I was angry
with Lee, very angry.” It was impossible longer
to keep the situation from Ruth, and after Lee's
conduct, George felt little inclined to act his de-
fender. “The whole matter is this: Lee wanted
me to urge Uncle Tom to change his attitude
toward him, and I refused. That brought the
trouble.”
It might have seemed that George was exerting
an unfair influence over Ruth, but he did not
think so. His love as it embraced her happiness
77


GEORGE GIVES ADVICE
and the voice was all perplexity. “I like Lee ever
so much, but I can’t decide that I love him. And
yet if it would change him as he says — that’s the
point that makes me wonder. If I ever do decide
that I love him, what do you think are the chances
that our marriage would be his making?”
“Very poor,” George answered with a quick
gesture of impatience, and there ran through his
mind instances of girls in his acquaintance who
had made like experiments. “If Lee won't play
the man for your sake now, he certainly would n’t
after you were his wife. I’d sacrifice everything
I have — I’d give my right hand or twenty years
of my life, rather than see you marry a man of
that stamp. There 's no man on earth I love
more than Uncle Tom, and I could ask for no better
friend than you’ve always been to me. I’m sorry
to have said so much against Lee, but I could n’t
rest easy seeing you in the danger of throwing your
happiness away. But there’s another thing, Ruth.
I have been harsh about Lee to-night, but I be-
lieve something else quite as strongly. Misfortune
is what Lee needs most of all. Now he is abso-
lutely unworthy of you, but if some great calamity
came to him, if something struck him with a force
that would kill an ordinary man, it would be his
salvation l”
They had started up the stairs. “But remem-
79


THE UN SEEN JURY
ber,” George added, “in thinking over what I
have said, that I am strongly prejudiced against
Lee. We are—we are — well, if not enemies,
you surely could n’t call us friends. Remember
that and I think you’ll not misunderstand me.”
He glanced at Ruth in the half-darkness, and
his mind ran over the many years of their friend-
ship. A soundless pity rose in his heart at thought
of her spending the wealth of her nature on a man
like Davidson.
“There's nothing in this world I would n’t give
for your happiness!”
“I know it,” she said, “and your being here to-
night makes it you don’t know how much easier
for me!”
8O


CHAPTER X
THE CHOICE
THE last day of the visit to Woodford was by
far the happiest. George could now taste some-
thing of the joy Ruth's love, if it awakened, would
bring him. Occasionally he thought of Lee, but
with pitying contempt rather than anger.
As he entered the breakfast room, Ruth turned
from the window with quiet greeting. He had
expected to see some trace of the previous evening,
but save for an expression almost of tenderness
toward him, she was as she had always been.
“We ’re to be alone, to-day,” she observed,
seating herself at table. “I got down just in time
to see Father off, and he won’t be back till late
afternoon.” Perplexity flitted over her face.
“Did n’t he tell you he was going?”
“No, or I’d have been down early, too.”
“How funny!” Ruth exclaimed, “that Father
should have gone away for the day without telling
you. I can’t understand it. He seemed to be
thinking very seriously about something before he
went, so it may have slipped his mind.”
“It’s not strange. In fact, Uncle Tom could n’t
8I


THE UN SEEN J U RY
have told me about it last night for he did n’t see
me once after dinner.”
He spoke almost unconscious of his words, for
he was watching her with soul-eagerness. The
poise of her head touched him, for he knew the
suffering she had been through. But with his
sympathy came exultation at his own position.
He had taken no unfair advantage of Lee – had
spoken about him only after extreme provocation
and when he could no longer escape doing so—
and now might plan and work for his own happi-
ness regardless of the other.
Ruth rested her finger-tips on the cloth. “And
what shall we do to-day?” she smiled expectantly,
quick pleasure coming into her face. “This is
your last day home and we must make the most
of it, every minute 1”
George glanced through the bay-window to the
broad surface of the lake. “That breeze we’ve
been waiting for is here at last. Suppose we see
how long it takes to sail twice around the red
buoys. That will be free sailing most of the way.
Then we’ll beat over to the club-house, and come
back before the wind, just in time for lunch.”
An hour later they stood on the wharf. The
Adela, a bit of fluttering ribbon topping her
slender mast, rose and fell petulantly in the fresh
wind that greeted them.
82


THE UNSEEN JURY
background to her figure. “Father would bring me
out in one of the other boats, for he'd never let me
sail with you when racing.”
“No wonder ! Jack upset three or four times
and I’ll never forget the afternoon I carried a mast
away and doused the boys who were acting as bal-
last. When Jack and I grew older, neither thought
these races the greatest things in life. Before
long they were quite tame, perhaps because we
wanted to take girls out.”
They rounded the buoy and were off at still bet-
ter speed.
“What do you suppose Jack Wilkins is doing
now?” Ruth asked curiously. “I remember him
as a boy who was always laughing, and never so
much so as when teasing me. When I was eight
or ten he used to tell me that you did n’t know
the first thing about sailing a boat, and that I
must surely see how badly he’d beat you in the
next race. Once I was so wrought up that I
would n’t speak to him for a week. He thought
that great fun l”
“Jack’s laughing yet, I fancy.” George gave a
smile to the days Ruth had recalled. “He’s a
broker in Chicago, you know. He’d look happy
no matter what trouble was coming. If wheat
tumbled when he had risked his last dollar on its
rising, you’d never know it. The man who can
84


THE CHOICE
hide his feelings when things go wrong is the man
for me!”
How fond the memory is of taking pictures of
those we love and treasuring them unchanged.
Long months afterward George could see Ruth as
she was that morning. Her happiness stayed
with him, and an expression of those who have
come successfully through trouble.
A clump of trees on a little promontory jutting
into the lake broke the wind and they slipped by
in still water. Ruth's eyes darkened from some
painful memory and she turned to the reflection
below of the little hillside. -
“I did n’t go to bed last night as soon as you
left me.” A thrill to the soul came with her words.
“I sat in my room a long time, thinking.”
46 Yes ?”
“I was thinking of Lee and of Father and of you.
I remembered how Father has tried to make Lee
change and the way they have almost quarrelled,
and that you said nothing to me about Lee till I
made you do it last night.”
The hand on the tiller involuntarily stiffened,
the boat running into the wind till the sail barely
drew. George could see the shingly bottom as
they slipped by the point. Every fibre awaited
the next words. Ruth looked as one awaking
from a dream.
85.


THE CHOICE
ness would teach her the wisdom of the act.
Then in a wave the thought came over him that
now the great obstacle to his own love had been
removed. He felt as the man who after months of
peril and loneliness on the ocean sees, streaking
the horizon, the gray of the home port. The sun-
shine was brighter from that moment and soft
music surrounded him. Ruth could not know
that morning's full beauty, for her personality was
the center of it all.
Now they had reached the club-house, and
turning, crossed the lake before the wind. Since
opening her heart so freely, Ruth said little, but
George knew that his sympathy was a comfort to
her. As the boat ran behind the T-shaped wharf,
bore up into the wind and lost its momentum,
Ruth's face grew tender with happiness.
“I told Father about the letter just before he
left this morning. What he said has repaid me
for all it cost !”
“I hope you’ll never have cause to regret your
decision,” George answered. -
They lunched together, Ruth being more than
ever companionable. But George fancied she
seemed tired. He had noticed from her child-
hood that things trying to her nerves would bring
exhaustion, despite her perfect health.
So he made her lie down for an hour. Then they
87


THE UN SEEN J U RY
took a long drive, their aimless way first through
woods then out into an open rolling country,
The mist that lay over the hills in the morning
had long since parted, and in the purple distance
the horizon stretched temptingly. The welcome
of summer was upon them, with a breeze mur-
muring new music through the cool branches.
Ruth's very presence brought quiet exhilaration,
and George felt his heart go out to the future,
with a hope too great to admit failure. Rash
above others is the man who thinks to read a
girl's mind and purposes before love in its coming
has made all things clear. George, however, as
he pondered the future found much of substantial
encouragement. Part, he thought grimly, had
come from his enemy, Lee Davidson himself.
The man's confession at the height of anger that
his influence over Ruth slackened always when
George came home was suggestive. That did
not signify love, but it did prove a strong regard
that might be the basis of much else. Ruth's
friendship for Lee rested on admiration for phys-
ical qualities and social charm. That the bonds
between them were less strong with George pres-
ent proved that even when Lee was a rival, the
chances were at least even. But Lee need no
longer be considered a rival. By his own folly
and by Ruth's gradual steeling her will against
88


THE CHOICE
his influence, he was gone from the path. Other
men might be viewed in the light of rivals, but
none so near as to cause uneasiness. Lee had
been the only man George dreaded. Now he
could press on without obstacles.
Ruth's attitude gave yet firmer hope. She had
always been frank with him, but now he felt
something deeper. She had turned instinctively
to him in the troubles that had come during the
days of his visit, and seemed unconsciously to
have opened her inner self. It was not love, or
she would have been reserved with him, but it was
the faith, the confidence, the reliance of a girl's
heart that are from love but a hand’s-breadth re-
moved.
Mr. Maston's willing acceptance of the future
George sought was another reason for rejoicing.
George had been sincere in insisting that Ruth
should be left with mind absolutely open to his
suit. Slight reflection convinced him neverthe-
less how utterly impossible it was that she should
not be strongly prejudiced in his favour. Even if
Mr. Maston fought hard to keep his bearing in
the matter secret, it must be revealed almost at
the start. Father and daughter were so close in
sympathy, that even unconsciously his feeling
must reach her. Ruth's peculiar nearness to her
father since her mother's death made certain that
89


THE UNSEEN JURY
his advice would be the well-nigh dominant feature
of her decision. His wish that they should marry
would carry extreme influence to the settlement
of the question.
Long thought had filled George with the hope
that the happiness above all else in his world lay
just ahead, and the joy of life burned within him.
What if these days, with yearning for the future
that was of itself happiness, were but foretaste of
well-rounded years, many in number, each com-
pleter and fuller of satisfaction?
“What is the matter?” Ruth asked abruptly,
her gaiety spontaneous, her laughter full of merri-
ment, “you’re making me do all the talking this
afternoon l”
The clean breath of pine-trees was in their lungs,
and the valleys they entered teemed with sun-
shine, while little streams of odd, half-silent
melodies ran beneath them.
“Why am I quiet?” George asked. “Per-
haps I’m too happy to talk. This day is almost
too beautiful to happen again. Look at that hill
with the green upon it and the shadows at the
bottom. I’ve enjoyed it all immensely, these
days. Perhaps I don’t talk much this afternoon
because I’m sad I don’t want to go away to-
morrow. The office will be hot, and the streets
blistering, and there’ll be the noise and the dust
90


THE CHOICE
and I don’t like the thought of going back to it.
I’d rather stay right here. But I’m coming back
for a week, very soon, remember !”
His assignment of material reasons for unwill-
ingness to leave Woodford was not borne out by
the regret in his voice, or his far away, eager ex-
pression.
“I’m glad you’ve been here, you don’t know
how glad,” Ruth said softly, “it’s been a comfort
to be able to talk to somebody. I’ve felt so
strangely since this morning, so satisfied. It
must have been the effect upon Father when he
knew.”
They had followed the edge of a ravine, but
soon crossed a bridge with turbulent water some
fifty feet below and were on the ascent. “The
happiness in his face when he knew it was all de-
cided,” Ruth continued, her words throbbing, her
eyes bright, “I shall never forget it !”
The road dipped through meadows blanketed
by daisies, where red and white cattle stood in-
dolently patient in the shade. Snug farmhouses
rose above them on the hillsides, with vigorous
surrounding orchards and the blue, white-barred
sky beyond.
“Here’s where we turn,” George said as they
came to a crossroads; “the miles we’ve gone
over ! I’d never have thought it.”
9I


THE UNSEEN JURY
He was in no condition for noting the flight of
time. In a dim way he drank in the beauty of
the lazy summer afternoon, but his conscious
mind was all alert to the new years with their
promise of maturing joy. He asked questions
and answered them, talked of the changing
scenery and inconsequential plans for the near
future, never for a moment losing from sight the
final goal. He could not, he thought, wait for
the hour of its attainment.
Afternoon was gone when they neared home at
last, and the hush preceding nightfall was upon
them. Mr. Maston, strolling over the place, saw
the returning carriage and came to meet it. He
walked by their side the final hundred yards, and
they entered the house, Ruth's hand resting in his.
When the reluctant sun went down, George
wondered how it could possibly have brought him
a happier day for the last of his visit.
92


CHAPTER XI
THE VISIT ENDS
THAT evening they passed in the library. With
the afternoon fresh in memory, George had ex-
pected the closing hours of his visit to prove still
happier. But it was not so, for the joy in his
heart seemed to have reached its climax. Indeed
a slight chill had come over his feelings. The ex-
hilaration, greater with every minute of the drive
with Ruth, did not continue. It was not that
night had blotted out the sunshine and colours of
sky and field that had helped to make his spiritual
rejoicing real to his senses, nor was it that to-mor-
row would see him gone from the place and
people he most loved. He knew that his return
would be speedy, and already he was counting to
himself the days of separation.
Mr. Maston's bearing was responsible for the
changed atmosphere. Unconsciously to himself
he had cast gloom over the household. At din-
ner he had been cheerful, but with the preoc-
cupied air that showed one of the dreaded attacks
of despondency to be upon him. George worked
to change his thoughts, suggesting an hour at
93


THE UNSEEN J U RY
chess, a game which always had held interest for
Mr. Maston. In this instance, however, it was no
distraction. His eyes kept wandering and he
made his moves without deliberation. Finally he
studied the board for some minutes, then drew
back with impatience.
“That’s an interesting situation, but let’s not
carry it through. Somehow I cannot keep my
mind to it. Ruth will sing for us, instead.”
Ruth's manner changed as the minutes slipped
by. She became more reserved, perhaps from the
music she chose, perhaps from her father's atti-
tude. He was watching her with extreme sad-
ness. Occasionally she would turn with a ques-
tion or idle comment and his face would grow
cheerful, but always the despondency returned.
For days George had known that Ruth's future
was weighing upon him, and the worriment he
showed was ground for greater anxiety since Mr.
Maston was not the man to reveal in full the
troubles that came to him. His continued periods
of depression were difficult to explain since Ruth's
decision as to Lee had brought happiness. On
several occasions recently, with the hopes George
had confided to him fresh in mind, he had fore-
casted her future cheerfully and without uneasi-
ness. The only solution was that Ruth's fears as
to her father's health were too well founded. He
94


THE VISIT ENDS
must have concealed his true state more perfectly
than anybody dreamed.
Mr. Maston drew into himself, and for long
periods said nothing. From the depths of a big
chair, his finger-tips touching, his eyes half-closed,
he followed Ruth's movements unceasingly. She
lingered over the music, knowing that it was a
rest to him, in lifting his mind from the darkness
of his mood.
“That’s all!” she said at length, turning on the
stool. “I don’t remember another thing.”
She crossed to Mr. Maston's chair. “Good-
night, Father,” she said bending over him. An
appreciation of his love must have entered Ruth's
heart, for she waited, stroking his hair.
Her face was loving tenderness, with nothing
of reserve or concealment. Involuntarily George
leaned forward at a devotion he had never seen
evidenced. Mr. Maston glanced up and his anx-
iety and depression faded away before the warmth
of her love. “Good-night, dear,” he answered,
but for a moment did not release her. “Good-
night. God bless you always 1”
The door closed, George watching it fondly with
the thought of receding footsteps. When he
turned, the touch of ice was upon him. He had
never seen a sadder face. Mr. Maston's des-
pondency was again with him. He had gripped
95


THE UNSEEN JURY
the arms of his chair, his lips white, his eyes ter-
rified. He looked as though the gates of hell had
opened before him and he had seen the sufferings
of a thousand years.
“Uncle Tom l” George exclaimed, an entreat-
ing hand to his shoulder. “Don’t think of what-
ever is troubling you. Everything will come out
well, I’m sure, if you let it!”
Mr. Maston smiled faintly. His solemnity did
not lessen though he spoke with calmness.
“Sometimes it is more than I can bear, the
thought what may come to Ruth after I’m gone.
No, no, don’t protest ! I’m aware of the facts.
It may be months, but I’m quite certain it will not
be years. It is growing upon me, my premoni-
tion that I shall not live long. It may be fancy,
but these things occasionally have meaning.
Ever since her mother died, Ruth's happiness has
been my chief thought. I’ve been successful in
my effort, too. I don’t suppose that a father and
daughter were ever nearer than we are. The
greatest joy of my life is her happiness. It’s hard
to look forward to the time when I shall be unable
to do anything for her, it’s hard l”
George forced a laugh. “You should n’t give
way to these premonitions. I don't believe in
such forecasts a minute. You’re a little under
96


THE VISIT ENDS
the weather, and that brings them. Why not
see Dr. Woodruff again? He can help you, I
know !”
“Perhaps I will. Ruth has been asking me to
see him for several days.” Mr. Maston turned in
his chair, his expression more cheerful. “And so
you’re going away to-morrow, George P You
don’t know how thoroughly Ruth and I have en-
joyed your being home this time. I’ve enjoyed
it more than ever before, and that’s saying a great
deal. I wish you were n’t going to-morrow.”
“I don’t go because I want to, Uncle Tom 1”
“Do you know,” Mr. Maston continued, “I’ve
been thinking about your father all this evening.
We were wonderful friends, and it seems so short
a time since he was here ! You remind me of him
more and more as you grow older.”
The strong lines of the lawyer's face relaxed to
tenderness. “He would have died without one
moment's anxiety if he could only have known.
Some day I hope you’ll understand what Wood-
ford has meant to me, though I shall never be able
to tell you!”
The smile that George loved came back to Mr.
Maston. “Don’t talk about it, my boy. You’ve
given far more than you have received already.
And in the future – well, if you knew the comfort,
97


THE VIS IT ENDS
much, that’s the trouble. Some day he’ll wish he
had learned self-restraint l”
“But he is n’t bad at heart,” Mr. Maston ob-
jected, his face with its wrinkles of kindliness
beaming charity and good-will, “if it were not for
his habits and the conviction that everybody is ill-
treating him, he’d be a noble fellow. He has the
makings of a man, and I love him in spite of all
his faults. There’s danger that you two will be-
come lifelong enemies. Don’t let that happen.
I want you always to be a friend to him, for if he
keeps on at the present rate he’ll need friends
badly before long !”
George nodded, his heart not in the promise,
and with hope of never turning a finger in Lee's
behalf. “I wish that man would pull himself to-
gether,” he exclaimed, “it’s a downright shame
the anxiety he has given you!”
Mr. Maston took a cigar from his case. “Oh,
Lee’s coming out all right one of these days, never
fear.” He picked up a hat. “Now I think I'll
go for a little walk. You’d better not come with
me, though. Sometimes when not feeling exactly
right, half an hour alone in the open does me a
deal of good.”
They stood on the porch together. “Good-
night! Good-night!” Mr. Maston said heartily.
“I’ll see you in the morning before you go.”
99


THE UN SEEN J U RY
He strolled leisurely away. As he passed into
a shadow George looked intently an instant, then
went to his room sick at heart that a man of Mr.
Maston's character should come to old age, shat-
tered in health and weighted by anxiety.
IOO


CHAPTER XII
THE PREMONITION COMES TRUE
“Mr. Hunter / Mr. Hunter /*
“All right.” George turned over, drowsily re-
membering that he was to leave on the early train.
“I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
“Mr. Hunter / Mr. Hunter / " came a fright-
ened whisper, and the knock was repeated.
A moment and he had opened the door to find
the old housekeeper before him, her face gray, the
eyes full of a rising terror.
“Mr. Maston,” she gasped, a trembling hand to
her forehead, “Mr. Maston has n’t been in his bed
all night. Generally I hear him when he comes
from his walk, but last night I heard nothing at
all !” She steadied herself against the wall.
“What shall I do? What shall I do, sir?” she
sobbed.
George Hunter's heart stood still at remembrance
of the shadow he had fancied stealing after Mr.
Maston the evening before as he passed into the
gloom of an elm-tree.
“Don’t say a word l” he commanded, almost
roughly. “Keep everybody from knowing what
IOI


THE UNSEEN JURY
has happened, – that is, if anything has. I’m
going to find Mr. Maston. Don’t wake Ruth and
don't let anybody ring the bell till I return l”
He threw on the rest of his clothes and was at
the door, just as the coachman, rubbing his eyes,
rolled up from the stables. “Come with me!”
George directed. “Mr. Maston has met with some
accident and we must find him l” The house-
keeper had evidently rung for the man in her ex-
citement.
They hurried down the hillside, the coachman
wide-eyed with apprehension, while in George
Hunter's mind was growing some vague horror,
and behind it Lee Davidson's face with the unre-
strained anger he had seen at their last meet-
1ng.
Instinctively he led the way to the little rustic
bridge. In great crises the mind is acute, or else
objects blur before one. He had an impression of
green foliage surrounding the bridge, and the deli-
cate tracing of leaves where thick branches bent
low over the brook.
The coachman drew back from the gray cap
both knew as Mr. Maston's lying on a seat at the
middle of the bridge. Then he started to pick it
up.
“Leave that as it is,” George exclaimed, “and
look around you sharp !”
IO2


THE PREMONITION COMES TRUE
His belief as to what had happened was well-
formed, and no time must be lost. “Come down
the brook. But wait an instant l”
A cigar with long ash-end on the rail of the
bridge at the middle of the stream had caught his
eye.
“Don’t touch that l” he said, as the man reached
out his hand uncertainly. “Don’t touch the rail
either as it’s loose and the cigar will be shaken
Off.”
They started down the brook, though unable to
keep within a yard of the water on account of the
mud. George had braced himself for their dis-
covery. They rounded a curve in the stream, and
halted. A long white hand protruded by a rock
into the current, and beyond, Mr. Maston lay face
down in the shallow water, his body resting on a
sand bar. They gathered themselves and plunged
through the brook to his side. In an eddy a twig
swung round and round.
At the shock the coachman staggered and
would have fallen, but George caught him. They
turned Mr. Maston's body over, drawing it out of
the water, and laid it on the bank. Save for a
bruise on the right temple, the vacant eyes, and its
leaden colour, the face of the dead was as it had
always been.
“Can't — can't — can’t we do anything, sir?”
IO3


THE UNSEEN J U RY
George reached down to the outstretched hand.
“Too late l” he murmured, feeling that the decisive
reply to the appeals of the living—the rigor mor-
tis — had set in, “he’s been dead hours already.”
George was as helpless then as the coachman.
He stood for a time in silence, gazing at the body
so impressively without movement. He was weak
as from a long illness, with a ringing of bells in his
ears. He took off his coat, and knelt to cover the
face.
The horror of the morning came slowly to him,
but he did not dwell on his own loss. He was ab-
sorbed in thought of the supremely-loving girl into
whose life the tragedy must enter, and who could
never outgrow its memories. He wondered if
Ruth were yet awake, and how he should force
himself to the task of telling her.
Hesitancy and grief well-nigh overcame him,
but suddenly he straightened with hatred and rage.
He remembered the threats that had been made
against Mr. Maston, and the person who had quar-
relled violently with him but a few hours before his
death.
“Go to the house, and telephone the medical
examiner to come here,” he said with quick deci-
sion, “then telephone the sheriff to arrest Lee
Davidson if he can be found anywhere !”
The coachman had started through the brook.
IO4


THE PREMONITION COMES TRUE
“One moment,” George called. “Are there any
footprints this side #"
The man came back and looked sharply at the
mud.
“None here, sir.”
“Any on the other side?”
He splashed through the water. “Only those
we made, sir.”
It was clear that Mr. Maston's body had drifted
with the current from the bridge.
“One thing more,” George said, “tell the
housekeeper that Mr. Maston is dead, but that
Ruth must be kept from knowing it till I tell her.
Then bring the gardener back with you. One
stand by the bridge and keep people from going
on or touching it, and the other stop people from
coming near —” He pointed to the body at
his feet.
The coachman was away on the run, glad to
escape from the scene of the tragedy.
Murder under all circumstances is revolting, but
in Mr. Maston's death there was something pe-
culiarly shocking. The pathos of the thing did
not impress George so strongly for the moment
as the damnable cruelty of it all. Memories of
Mr. Maston came pressing back. He thought of
the dead man's nobility, that he had been the best-
loved of all in Woodford, and a man who would
1O5


THE UNSEEN J U RY
never willingly have injured anybody. That a
life of such quality — especially in old age and
when severe illness had come to it—should have
been sacrificed by a hot-headed young fool, was
enough to make all Woodford detest Lee with a
loathing above words. The only relief was that
Ruth had broken away from him.
While awaiting the men, George went carefully
over the ground near by. He searched for evi-
dence of the crime but found nothing. At either
approach to the bridge, the land dropped sharply
to the water's edge. The soil was soft and clayey,
but no footprint was visible.
The medical examiner's home chanced to be
near, and he came hurriedly, breathless with con-
sternation. He was a small, silent man with a
drooping, bitter moustache. He listened thought-
fully to what George had to tell. His face grew
Set.
“This makes it bad for somebody. I have
heard the threats a man in this town has been
making !”
They walked to the bridge and he noted the
cap and cigar. He asked his questions in a soft,
observant way, seemingly anxious not to come to
conclusion too rapidly.
“I was going down to Boston this morning,”
George ventured, “but of course I shall now stay
IO6


THE PREMONITION COMES TRUE
here as long as needed.” He turned to the men
who had arrived. “When the medical examiner
gives permission, bring Mr. Maston's body to the
house. Take it through the side door into the
room back of the library. Don't come for at least
five minutes.”
He walked up the hill to the house, his steps
lagging slower and slower. A picture of Ruth as
she last looked on her father came to him. He
wondered why many believed that one's own suf-
fering is the hardest thing in the world to face.
IOZ


CHAPTER XIII
A GLANCE FORWARD
A JOYOUS laugh floated down the stairway as
George entered, and a light-hearted song faded
away. He could never afterward see a young
girl in soft-coloured gown come smiling toward
him, without a memory of Ruth that morning, her
eyes full of the happiness of living, her every
movement speaking hope and animation.
“Where's Father?” she asked, lingering fondly
on the name. “I rapped on his door as I passed,
but he did n’t answer. He must have gone for a
walk. He 'll he late for breakfast if he does n’t
hurry.”
George grew numb at sight of her. The task
was beyond his strength. He could not speak, so
turning away pretended to examine a vine that
had stretched its slender tendril through the
window-casement.
Light footsteps sounded behind him, and a
musical voice as from a great distance. “I’m
sorry you’re going away to-day. But it won’t be
for long. You'll let me drive you over to the
train this morning, won’t you?”
IO8


A G LANCE FORWARD
He summoned all his courage and turned, with
throbbing temples, in the bitterest anguish he had
ever known. His heart for a moment ceased beat-
ing. Even to breathe was painful.
“George l” Perplexity spoke from Ruth's face,
then sympathy. “What is it, George?” Her
wondering glance fell on his muddy shoes and
wet trousers. Suddenly her cheeks went white.
“Where 's Father?” she gasped in terror.
“Where 's Father ?”
“There is ” George stopped, his voice
failing. But she divined something. A tortured
expression came over her and she drew near. By
an effort he recovered himself. “There has been
an accident, Ruth, and Uncle Tom is injured
badly l”
“And you keep me here!” She seized him
convulsively by the wrist. “He’s injured and
suffering somewhere, and you won’t let me go!”
She dragged him toward the door.
“No, Ruth, he is not suffering !” Till that
moment George had never believed in an actual
physical heaviness of heart. He could not explain
till her trembling suspense compelled it. Then he
told her of her father's death, the time and place.
He did not mention Lee's connection with the
tragedy, for he wished her as long as possible to
believe it an accident.
IO9


A GLANCE FORWARD
with the tragedy. George resolved that the trial
should press as lightly as possible upon her. A
picture of the court room came to mind, the dense,
unsympathetic, struggling crowd, eager for a
share of the excitement within, the newspaper
artists and reporters that would gather when Lee
faced the jury for his life, and, always the most re-
pulsive feature, the vulgar and flashily dressed
women who flock like harpies to a murder trial.
George knew the knife-like insinuations that
would rise, and felt what it would mean to Ruth
to have her name commented on and spread
broadcast. The barest change in the case, a
slight reflection on her character during the trial
would mean lifelong suffering. Lee must of
course be convicted, but Ruth should come out of
the matter with as few sad memories as could
possibly be given.
Before the sun was half-way to the zenith,
Woodford was ablaze with excitement. The nor-
mal life of the town had halted. Disbelief in the
rumours, then sorrow, then over-powering anger
swept over men. Nothing short of a great
national calamity could so have shaken the town
to its depths. Mr. Maston had not lived merely as
an individual. He seemed to belong to the com-
munity, to have had an interest in everybody, and
in a certain sense to have been possessed by all.
I I I


THE UNSEEN JURY
His ties with rich and poor had been of equal
strength. People telephoned to know if the re-
port of his death were true, and many were the
expressions of sympathy that came at an early
hour. The best physician in town, an old friend
of Mr. Maston's, came early and asked to be sum-
moned should Ruth at any time be in danger of
breaking under the strain.
The quietness of Ruth's suffering that morning
with its silent though crushing grief, affected
George most powerfully, but next to that the
bronzed, tear-spotted face and choking voice of
the old coachman as he drove off on an errand.
“He never spoke harsh to me for twenty-two
years. He did n’t watch me. He trusted me
with everything. Now they’ve killed him, an I
was n’t there to stop it! I'd 'a' gone gladly to the
death for him and he'll never know it!”
Officers came promptly to the house, and the
servants were rigorously questioned as to inci-
dents of preceding days and whatever they had
seen or heard the night before. George gave
what assistance he could, and a microscopic in-
vestigation was begun into the movements of all
who might have any connection with the tragedy,
the evidence even on that first day being collected
with thoroughness. Especial care was given to
what Lee had said and done recently bearing upon
II 2


THE UNSEEN JURY
all the facts he remembered relative to the situa-
tion. He felt confident that could Lee be proven
to have been near the bridge the evening previous,
any defence that might be set up for him would be
worthless.
114


CHAPTER XIV
THE NET TIGHTENS
A MARKED unanimity of feeling met George
driving into the village. Men were standing by
twos and threes, forgetful of their usual employ-
ment, all apparently stunned by Mr. Maston's
death. Even yet they seemed unable to grasp
the tragedy.
Dr. Woodruff, who had been to the house
that morning, left a group on his porch. “She is
very quiet,” George said to his question. “I think
there is nothing you can do. What facts have
been discovered about Mr. Maston's death ?”
The old doctor's face hardened from sympathy
to bitterness. He shook his head wonderingly.
“You’re the first man not to charge Davidson
with it even before knowing the evidence 1” He
rested one foot on the hub of the wheel, his whole
quality an accusation. “Last night at half-past
ten, a man saw Davidson enter the Maston place.
He did n’t call at the house, so it’s evident he
waited outside till Mr. Maston took his walk, just
before going to bed. Then a little after eleven,
not far from quarter past, Frank Peters met
II.5


THE UNSEEN JURY
Davidson walking rapidly away. The moon was
out, and Davidson's hands were clenched at his
side, Frank says, and he seemed much excited.
He kept mumbling to himself. Frank spoke to
him, but he jumped and made as though he
wanted to run. He pulled himself together
though and walked slowly off. Frank says he
looked badly frightened and put on an air of in-
difference just to hide his true feeling.”
Thus Lee had been with Mr. Maston but a
short time before his death. Suspicion had be-
come knowledge. George lost his last shadow of
doubt. The man was guilty and his punishment
would certainly follow.
The grief George met as he drove on was
deeply impressive. Men spoke of their love for
Mr. Maston and their sympathy for Ruth with
voices that trembled, but underneath their sorrow
ran vengeful anger, and he could read in their
countenances the hatred that had already sprung
up for Davidson. Sentiment against him was on
the rise. They mentioned his name only to curse
his cowardice, and with the hope for his speedy
conviction.
One of the selectmen of the town, a man gray-
bearded and with impending eyebrows, stood
against a post in front of the Savings Bank.
George remembered of old his quaint humour
II6


THE NET TIGHTENS
and his merry twinkling laugh. But now the
face was dark and the eyes vindictive, with noth-
ing but thought of punishment.
“What do you think of the evidence against
Davidson?” he asked in tones roughened by
passion.
Though Lee richly deserved all his trouble, the
universal attitude made George sympathize with
him in a measure. No matter how patent his
guilt, the thought kept returning of his frightful
position in Woodford, charged with the cowardly
murder of the best man who had ever lived there.
Lee's love for Ruth may have made George
somewhat slow in giving expression to his
feeling.
“I don’t know how much evidence has been
found,” he answered cautiously. “In judging a
man on circumstantial evidence there’s always
danger you’ll go too far. And it’s hard to con-
vict, too !”
“It won’t be this time,” the selectman ex-
claimed with an oath, “there's enough evidence
already to convict Davidson over and over !”
He drew George into a little store, away from the
crowd that had gathered.
“Just what has been found?” The man was
shrewd and observant, and George knew would
have assimilated to himself the many rumours
117


THE NET TIGHTENS
time needed to commit the murder ! And he left
a few minutes later.”
“So Dr. Woodruff told me,” George assented.
The accumulative effect of the evidence was
tremendous and the chain welded against Lee
sufficient. No other man in Woodford hated Mr.
Maston, and robbery was out of the question for
his money had not been touched. Many a man
has been hanged on evidence less convincing.
George wished however to lose nothing. “Has
anything else been found?” The hideousness of
the crime was coming to the surface, and his de-
sire increased to bring punishment to the guilty
man. Anything that could be added would prove
of service.
The selectman seated himself on a cracker box,
crossing his legs reflectively. “One thing that
will go hard with him is his temper. He has
never cared what came of it, and once angry has
always lost hold on himself. He's been that way
since a boy.”
“Are there other facts?”
“These facts are enough for conviction, but if
anything more should be needed, it’s already
come to light,” the selectman stroked his mous-
tache, his eyes beady and satisfied. “About half
past ten last night, there was a shower. It was
over in a few minutes and the air dried away.
II9


THE UNSEEN JURY
Not a dozen feet from the bridge—the end away
from the house—a handkerchief was found this
morning with Davidson's monogram. It was un-
folded, but as fresh as the moment it came out
of the laundry. That proves it was dropped there
after the shower—not earlier that is than quarter
of eleven. The evidence is conclusive, and no
twelve sane men in the state of Massachusetts
would acquit Davidson, no matter what big
lawyers he could hire in his defence l”
“Conviction is certain,” George agreed, “but
has nothing been found the other way ?”
“No, that is, nothing of importance. A boy
saw two men in the woods near Mr. Maston’s
house yesterday afternoon, but there is no evidence
connecting them with the murder. The way
everybody loved Mr. Maston will make it harder
for Davidson too. It’s only a few hours since the
body was found, and of course much damaging
evidence is yet to come to light. With such a
case the district attorney will know that he must
secure a verdict, or people will think him too small
for his job.”
Now that Lee's guilt was so clear, George be-
gan to look forward to his fate. “What does
Davidson say? Of course he has denied it all.
How has he tried to explain things?”
“He has n’t said anything yet. The sheriff went
I2O


THE NET TIGHTENS
to his house early, and arrested him. Then they
sent for me, and we were about to put him through
questions, when somebody told us that Mr. Tay-
lor himself was over in Thornton. I telephoned
him an hour ago, and he told me to leave things
till he came. He ought to be here pretty soon as
it’s only fifteen miles.”
“Then no questions have yet been asked ?”
The old man leaned back with an expression of
disappointment. “We wanted to question him,
but thought better not. The district attorney is a
gruff, touchy sort, and always expects things done
just his way. He’s driving here now, and will be
better satisfied that we have left everything, even
preliminary questions, to his own hands.”
“Do you suppose,” keen desire had come to
George to gain the facts as soon as they came out,
“do you suppose I could be present at the district
attorney's first examination of Davidson ? I might
even be of some help in getting to the bottom of
things.”
The selectman mused for a time. “Of course
this is n’t to be a public hearing, but Mr. Taylor
might let you in. You are of all men most inter-
ested in running Mr. Maston's murderer down.
And from your training you might be of assistance
to the state,” he added consequentially.
They had now gone into the street. “I’ve
I2 I


THE UNSEEN JURY
thought of something that will spur the district at-
torney on to conviction,” the selectman mused.
“Years ago he had trouble with young Davidson's
father—a law suit and other matters—and to the
day of his death never quit hating him. Because
he hated Mr. Davidson, his hatred for the David-
son name still continues — he's that kind of a man
—and once he gets his hold on Lee he’ll never let
go. He may be hard sometimes in trying crimi-
nals, but he’s successful. He’s a wonder, and
they don't get away from him. He's a bulldog
in character, and this case is as good as settled
now.”
“It certainly looks so,” George assented, “you
let me know when Mr. Taylor gets here and I’ll
come right over.”
“Perhaps you’d better not leave at all. The
district attorney will come straight to my house,
and we might as well wait for him there. Then
there’ll be no delay.”
I22


CHAPTER XV
AN UNEXPECTED RESCUE
IT is strange how a man's whole character will
often reveal itself in an instant. When the dis-
trict attorney reached the selectman’s house—his
horse covered with lather—one glance at the
square body, the muscular bull neck, and the face
a stranger to all sentiment, together with the sense
of exhaustless energy, made clear that Lee David-
son had slim chance of escaping his deserts.
A few incisive questions gave Mr. Taylor the
facts that had been gathered. “The evidence
could n’t be better ! It's all I need !” His mass-
ive fist struck joyfully against his palm. “That
man can’t escape from me. It’s well, too, that
nobody has questioned him. I know the admis-
sion to get and I’ll have it !” In his throat
sounded a chuckle of foreseen triumph.
“Here’s how things stand,” the district attorney
confided, as a minute later the three were driving
rapidly over to the Davidson residence where Lee
had been held prisoner by the sheriff since early
morning. “I’ve already evidence enough to con-
I23


THE UNSEEN J U RY
vict, but I want to make the case absolutely cer-
tain. I’m going to take Davidson's last chance
away by making him admit that he was with Mr.
Maston on the bridge at eleven last night. If he
says that, it’s all over with him. Of course by
this time he knows that he has been arrested for
Mr. Maston's death, but the sheriff will have had
sense not to tell the evidence.”
“It’s a good thing you could reach here this
morning,” George said.
“Yes, for he'll have had no time to get ready.
He won’t understand what I'm after and will make
admissions before he knows. He'll either admit
being in the Maston place last night, and that will
be enough, or he'll deny it outright. If he tries
that game I’ll break him down by telling him of
the people who saw him enter and leave, and of
the handkerchief that was found.
“But if that is n’t enough,” the unrelenting voice
took added grimness, “I’ll tell of the witness who
saw him strike Mr. Maston on the temple, and
throw him off the bridge. We haven't found that
witness yet, but when you have a murderer to
convict, a few lies told to wring out a confession
don’t matter much. I’m not going to wear gloves
to handle Davidson and I sha’n’t be squeamish !”
George glanced at the speaker and felt himself
wondering what part of the district attorney's ea-
I24


AN UN EXPECTED RESCUE
gerness came from zeal for the furtherance of jus-
tice, and what from hatred of the Davidson name.
“If I can’t shake his nerve by talking to him,”
a dull gleam of joy accompanied the words,
“I’ll bring him over and suddenly show him Mr.
Maston's body. That's one of the surest ways of
making a murderer confess!”
When a tree has been struck by lightning, one
expects it to be hopelessly shattered, and George
looked forward with this feeling to his first sight of
Lee. The crime charged was brutal in the ex-
treme, the evidence against him was conclusive,
and no man in Woodford believed even faintly in
his innocence. George was curious to see how Lee
would bear up under the ordeal confronting him.
A large room on the ground floor had been pre-
pared, and here the district attorney planted his
forces. He entered the house with greater energy,
and seemed thirsting for the moment when Lee
should be in his power. The expectation in his
aggressive face lent emphasis to his words.
“You’re to get everything said in this room
from the instant Davidson enters till he leaves,” he
directed the stenographer who had been sent to
the house, “if I question him too fast, tell me and
I’ll take more time. You two,” he nodded toward
the selectman and George, “are to watch the man.
Remember his every look and as much of what he
I25


THE UN SEEN J U RY
says as possible. He's the fellow I'm after, and
I'll drive him to the right admission if it keeps
him on the rack three hours | Remember, now,
young Davidson and I will do all the talking
necessary. Nobody else need say anything !”
He spoke rapidly and exultingly for the fever of
the chase was upon him.
George began to experience a slight change of
attitude. Belief in Lee's guilt was none the less
strong, but his utter helplessness and the tremen-
dous odds against which he would be forced to bat-
tle for life grew impressive. He was to lose his
last hope. Hatred for the crime gave way a lit-
tle before soul-pity for the prisoner. In ignorance
of the evidence against him, and not even know-
ing his legal rights, Lee was to face an accuser,
strong and alert and unscrupulous, willing to reach
his desired end by any means.
And another thought kept recurring. Lee
loved Ruth. However worthless Lee's life, this
love, weak and insufficient though it had been,
drew George closer in that hour of darkness.
The instinct of the lawyer told him that all chance
of a successful defence would be gone once Lee
had made the admission for which Mr. Taylor was
about to probe.
The selectman slipped from the room when
directed and went for the sheriff. “They’ll bring
126


AN UN EXPECTED RESCU E
Davidson down in a minute,” the district attorney
observed, his face joyous in anticipation.
“Things are going as I like them. I wish I
might never have a harder case to try than this
Will be l”
At the sound of steps, George gazed intently at
the door. He had known Lee for a moral weak-
ling, full of vanity and pose, but the man the burly
sheriff led into the room showed nothing of this.
His face was gray and the jauntiness gone from
his manner, but his carriage was easy and he gave
no hint of nervousness. He seated himself in a
big chair, and looked straight ahead as though
seeing no one. Presently his eyes turned toward
George and he nodded coldly. The nerve of the
man was admirable, and George felt his heart go
out to him. Courage against heavy odds is al-
ways attractive, no matter to what weaknesses of
character it may be joined.
George glanced at the district attorney and
could not believe his eyes, so changed he was and
subdued. The face that a minute before had been
vindictively eager, had now softened, with noth-
ing but sadness speaking from it. He crossed his
legs and looked up at the ceiling, his huge finger-
tips pressed lightly together.
“This is a distressing situation, Mr. Davidson,”
he began in gentle tones, and George could but
127


THE UNSEEN J U RY
think of the purring of a large cat, “distressing !
distressing ! You understand why I have come
to see you this morning? There are facts that un-
less explained — and I hope you will be able to ex-
plain them — tend to show that you have some in-
formation relative to Mr. Maston's death last night.
So I have come to see you. Don't you wish to
tell me all you know about the matter?” Mr.
Taylor bent forward, his right hand closing on the
arm of the chair.
Memory plays strange tricks at times. With
the mention of Mr. Maston's name, their last talk
with its reference to Lee came vividly back to
George. The words: “I want you always to be
a friend to him — he will need friends badly before
long,” sounded in his ears.
The district attorney's voice went calmly on, as
the man awaited, with the patience of a steel trap,
his victim's approach. “I will now give you an
opportunity, Mr. Davidson, to make any state-
ment you think best. I tell you in advance that
you are under no compulsion to say anything, and
I warn you that what you say may be used against
you,” the voice grew firmer when the legal formal-
ity to make valid the admission had been accom-
plished, “but if you are really innocent of all con-
nection with Mr. Maston's death, perhaps you
would prefer to tell me what you know?”
I28


AN UN EXPECTED RESCU E
“I have nothing to conceal,” Lee answered
“perhaps you can better learn all you wish by
asking whatever questions you choose. I shall
keep nothing from you.”
He faced the district attorney, one hand lightly
fallen to his knee, without flinching, From his
seat just behind, George could see little of Lee's
profile, but he noticed that there was no trembling
in the hand. He thought of their old enmity, but
somehow this had lost its bitterness as he watched
the man, so helplessly unconscious of his peril.
The evidence was convictive, and George knew that
the slightest damaging admission from Lee would
be his death-warrant. He believed him guilty be-
yond a doubt, but he knew that the best of men
are criminals potentially, and it sickened him to
think that one uncertain step, and the door of
safety would have closed, never to reopen.
Well-guarded happiness shone in the district-
attorney's face. “I admire your frankness, Mr.
Davidson, and will try not to keep you more than
a few moments.” His glance wandered about the
room, as though for a preliminary question. “Will
you tell me just when it was you last saw Mr.
Maston, and where ?”
Lee was blind to the danger. “Certainly. I
met Mr. Maston last ??
He got no further. That one answer would
I 29


THE UNSEEN J U RY
have been enough. George knew that Mr. Maston
had wished Lee nothing but good, and he felt the
weight of the doom settling upon him. Thought
of his guilt passed away for an instant, and he
saw him only as the man who loved Ruth. An
overwhelming pity rose in his heart for Lee, bring-
ing a revulsion of feeling and an impulse that it
was impossible to withstand. His right hand shot
out with full strength and struck hard on Lee's
shoulder.
“Don’t !” he whispered hoarsely. “Don’t an-
swer that question or any other till you’ve seen
counsel !”
“What's that? Why not? Why should n't I
answer questions?” Lee's expression was all
amazement.
“I can’t see you throw your life away without
one word of advice. Don't answer questions or
make statements to anybody till you’ve had the
benefit of counsel !”
The district attorney's face would have been
inspiration to a great artist. Its change from
complacent expectancy to disgust and then to
animal ferocity came in an instant. The veins
on his neck stood out. He sprang to his feet.
“What are you doing, you? What do you mean
by this?” Lasting enmity was in his voice as he
Caline 11621.
I 30


“DoN'T | HE whisperED; “DoN'T ANswer THAT QUESTION!”—Page 130.





AN UN EXPECTED RESCUE
George did not answer, for his brain was in a
fog. By a rash impulse he had given Lee the
only advice that might save him. But was he
right in so cautioning him ? Ought he to have
allowed sympathy thus to over-ride reason? No
time was given for reflection.
“What did you do it for? What did you do it
for ?” The question was persistent and angry.
“It looked too much like one man fighting a
crowd,” George said, to gain time.
The district attorney jumped forward. “Here,
Sheriff,” he called, “help me with this man l”
He jostled George by the shoulder, bearing him
backward, the big sheriff following to assist. Near
the door the struggle grew fiercer, and when by
chance Mr. Taylor's elbow struck George viciously
in the face, an impulse wilder than the first came
to him. He broke away, overturning the table in
the effort, brushed by the sheriff before he could
raise a hand, and was at Lee's side.
“I can't stand this !” he panted, “you must
have at least a small chance for your life. Will
you let me act as your counsel for a day or two
till you get somebody else?”
The district attorney's anger had awakened Lee
to his peril. “Thank you, George l’’ he said
simply, with strong hand-grip, “I’ll do any-
thing you say.”
I31


THE UNSEEN J U R Y
George turned to the sheriff. “Mr. David-
son will not answer any questions to-day. Will
you let me have half an hour's talk with my
client?”
A sulky growl answered him. Then Mr. Taylor
took the lead again, his chin coming more into
prominence. “What do you think we are?”
George reached for his hat, “Good-bye, Lee,
I want to talk to some people down street. Pub-
lic opinion is bitter against you, but it will be fair-
minded, I think. Remember now, no questions from
anybody!” He turned to the sheriff. “When you
are ready to give your prisoner his legal rights,
you can send for me. And will you remember,”
he added to the selectman and stenographer,
“everything that has happened here to-day?”
At the door a whisper reached him. “Would n’t
it be well if you reached the village first, Mr. Tay-
lor P”
Then the sheriff followed George into the
hall. “If you wish to talk to Davidson a few
minutes, I think I'll let you,” he said ponderously,
“though of course I shall stay in the room all the
time!”
District Attorney Taylor stalked slowly out,
glancing regretfully toward Lee. In passing he
covered George with a scowl. “You’ve done
a mighty bright thing, have n’t you, interfering
I 32


AN UNEXPECTED RESCUE
with justice this way? But you’re not through
with me yet! Davidson is n’t the only man to
whom trouble is coming in this case, don’t for-
get !”
133


CHAPTER XVI
A FAVOURABLE IMPRESSION
“WHAT made me do it?” George asked, draw-
ing Lee to the window away from the sheriff.
“There’s no end of the strongest evidence that
you murdered Mr. Maston last night, and not one
man in Woodford believes you innocent. Why
did I interfere just then? Perhaps I could n’t
stand by and see you throw your life away not
knowing what it meant. I believe you guilty, but
you must have a fair chance. And so if there is
any lawyer you’d like to defend you, I’ll see him at
once. Or if you’d rather trust my judgment, I’ll
select some good man to take the case. Ruth
knows that her father is dead, but I have n’t yet
told her of your arrest.”
Lee said nothing for a time, but gazed out the
window, his face stamped with bitterness and re-
gret. The shallowness of his nature seemed to
have been burned away by his accusation and ar-
rest, for there was a strength in his bearing un-
known before.
“You’re the last man on earth I’d have asked
I 34


A FAVOURABLE IMPRESSION
to help me,” he began, “but somehow I don’t
feel surprised at your coming forward this way.
It was kind, George, for I now see what I’ve
escaped!” Again he looked out the window and
was silent. He drew a long breath. “I’ve
been a fool all my life, and now that it’s too late,
I find it out. Mr. Maston was the best man I
knew, and to-day I can see that he was also my
best friend. I shall never have a chance of show-
ing him, in spite of all I said and did, just what
I thought !”
There were earnestness and quiet sincerity in the
words. “If you could only convince me of your
innocence l” George exclaimed. “At all events
you can talk freely to me. The law gives you ab-
solute privilege in statements to counsel, and noth-
ing you now say can ever be used against you.
Tell me all that happened last night !”
Lee drew his shoulders together, lines of pain
in his forehead. “There are many things in my
life that to-day I wish could be undone. But
there’s one habit I haven’t formed. And that’s
lying ! Its absence is n’t a virtue for I have never
cared a particle what people thought of my char-
acter. You can believe me or not, just as you
please,” the voice was free from excitement and he
looked George straight in the eye, “but I had no
more to do with Mr. Maston's death than you did I
I 35


A FAVOURABLE IMPRESSION
stories told him by my enemies, and the rest. He
heard me through and then began to talk as I’ve
never known him. He said that he had been
patient to the limit of his endurance, much of his
leniency owing to his regard for my father's
memory, but that he had at last decided to use
force and bend me to his will. He gave me the
alternative of living on a higher level or of never
speaking to Ruth again. That made me lose my
head completely. I told him”—the voice stopped
and for a minute there was no sound. “Well,
never mind what I told him — I wish to God I
could forget it. And I made threats against him,
too. He was stern throughout the talk, but I re-
member that he also seemed very kind and
would n’t get angry no matter what I said. He
used no harshness in replying even to the bitterest
things.”
Lee's narrative was open and straightforward,
and more effective still was the absence of all ef-
fort to distort the facts to his own advantage.
“And what of the evening?” George asked.
“That was what I began to tell the district at-
torney. As soon as I had left Mr. Maston and
had chance to cool down, I commenced to feel
how shabbily I had treated him. I was ashamed
of myself, for about the first time in my life,
though I was n’t yet ready to do anything. But
I 37


THE UN SEEN J U R Y
I happened to see Ruth an instant in the early
evening as you were walking together on the
terrace. The letter she had written the night be-
fore told me I had lost her, and it was that
made me so bitter against her father. Somehow
that one glimpse of her — though I knew she
was n’t for me any longer—changed my whole
feeling and a resolve came to me that will make
me happy as long as I live. I decided to go to
Mr. Maston and apologize for the way I had
treated him. I did n’t quite have the courage to
call at the house, but I remembered his habit of
walking at night, so I came out to meet him.
I waited behind an elm, and then we walked to-
gether to the bridge and stayed there some time.
He was kinder than I ever remember him, and
no matter what comes to me from it, I shall
always be grateful for that last talk on the
bridge.”
George bit his lip. “It’s quite as well that
you did n’t admit to the district attorney that you
waited outside last night for Mr. Maston and
then walked with him to the bridge. That would
have fixed the time precisely for we know when
he left the house.”
“And best of all,” Lee added, “there was
nothing but good feeling between us on the
bridge. I distinctly remember Mr. Maston's put-
*.
138


THE UNSEEN JURY
ing. Then he put it on the rail, and I remember
its glow as I looked back.”
This was a slight incident, but it added much to
the story. When George had found the cigar in
the morning, it was lying on the rail, ash-end
pointing in the direction Lee claimed to have
gone. The position of the cigar when discovered
proved that its glow could not have been seen
from the other side.
George held out his hand. “I came here with
absolute belief in your guilt, but you’ve raised a
doubt in my mind. It may have been only an ac-
cident. Mr. Maston may have had vertigo while
leaning over the rail, or some other illness, and all
this evidence against you go for nothing. I don’t
know yet — my mind is too unsettled. But as
long as I can feel the possibility of your innocence,
I'll stand by you. Till then I'll give you the
benefit of every doubt when speaking to others.
Should I convince myself of your innocence, I'll
do all in my power to help you. But one warn-
ing I give you now !”
The heavy months that were coming and the al-
most impossible task of persuading reasonable
men of Lee's innocence were strong in his mind.
“From this moment, you are not to say a word of
this affair to anybody. Feeling against you is so
high all over town that nobody would believe you,
I4Q


A FAVOURABLE IMPRESSION
and it’s absolutely certain that you’ll be indicted
for murder. There’s no way under heaven you
can escape being tried for your life. So don’t talk
now.”
“I put myself in your hands,” Lee assented;
“you were closer to Mr. Maston than anybody else,
and there’s no man in Woodford I’d rather have
believe me innocent. If you come to stand per-
manently on my side, it will count more for me than
a hundred other men l” Again he looked out the
window, his voice sinking to a whisper. “Tell
me about finding the body.”
George went through the story from the time he
had been awakened in the early morning, and with
the telling the horror grew upon him. Now there
was no excitement to support him, and he recalled
the minutes at the brook with greater pain even
than the actual finding of the body had brought.
Lee listened rigidly, and at the end did something
unforeseen, but which brought George new respect
for his manliness. He broke down completely.
When he could control himself, intensity of feel-
ing remained in his face.
“Poor Ruth !” he said.
That was all, yet its eloquence won George still
closer. Lee could have said nothing more express-
ive of the change that had come to him. Not a
word of terror as to his own future had he spoken,
3 y
I4 I


THE UNSEEN JURY
not a plea for assistance in his loneliness, not a
hint of self-pity.
George raised his voice and the sheriff came
forward. “Mr. Davidson will not testify at any
hearings, he will not answer any questions what-
ever relative to Mr. Maston's death, and you will
of course remember that he is acting on my advice.
He wanted to tell the district attorney all he knew.
Please send for me whenever he asks it and make
him as comfortable in all ways as you can.”
They were standing near the door. A flush
came over Lee's face. “Seems to me you’re
doing a lot for the man who used to hate you as I
did.” His troubled eyes took deeper feeling and
he held out a beseeching hand. “George, I don't
know what’s coming to me, but I’m not thinking
of that now. And it does n’t mean so much what
people say of me — I can stand that. There’s
one thing that counts more to me than all the rest.
When you’ve thought the matter over, you can do
me a great kindness. If you ever come to believe
me absolutely innocent, I wish you'd tell, I wish
you'd tell —”
“I understand,” George said hastily; “I’ll make
Ruth look at it the right way.”
I42


CHAPTER XVII
A SECOND APPEAL
GEORGE drove back to his old home benumbed
with uncertainty and doubt. The sun was as
bright as yesterday, the hills as green, but their
beauty did not reach him. He might have been
in a changed climate. Was Lee Davidson guilty
or innocent, and how could either be proven?
He was not guilty, for no guilty man could so
have carried himself. Acting could never have
given such appearance of sincerity, nor cunning
wholly masked the terror of a man in his position,
conscious of crime. The mind of a guilty man
would instinctively have gone out to the future,
seeking refuge from punishment, an exit from the
toils about him. Instead of centering on his own
peril, however, Lee's thought was divided between
grief for the dead and tender sympathy for the one
most afflicted by the tragedy.
No sooner had George come to hesitating belief
in Lee's innocence than with deep compulsion the
tide of evidence returned. What were emotion
and hope worth when against them stood rugged
facts whose decisive nature none could deny, and
I43


THE UNSEEN JURY
whose careful presentation must lead to convic-
tion? Case after case of circumstantial evidence
raced through his memory, but how weakly in-
conclusive they were, measured by this ! Always
there was some flaw in the chain, some little fact
to shake belief in the prosecution's cause, and give
foundation for successful defence. Nothing of
that character was before him. Lee was without
friends in his emergency and he would be without
evidence too.
If he were not guilty, what explanation of Mr.
Maston's death could be found ! It might have
been apoplexy while leaning over the bridge, or
other illness, or accident, or possibly death by the
hand of some man other than Lee. How slight
the chance, however, that any of these theories
should be sound. The theory accepted at once
by all Woodford was the only one of solidity.
On that very bridge, George had seen Lee's
anger manifested, and knew how readily it might
have turned to physical violence. And the letter
Ruth had written. No wonder that after its re-
ceipt Lee had tried to win Mr. Maston over,
knowing this to be his only resource, and had
quarrelled bitterly when he saw his efforts vain.
What more natural than that he should have
sought him again at night, with a final plea, and
when he saw its futility, to have struck in a flash
I44


THE UN SEEN J U RY
passed. Several sought to detain him in con-
versation, but he pleaded haste and went on.
Already he had sensed public opinion. He knew
that the bitterest condemnation must come to him
for the stand he had taken. If presently he
should satisfy himself of Lee's guilt and with-
draw assistance, the temporary aid would be
construed the act of a notoriety-seeker, an insult
to the memory of his dead benefactor. But if he
should remain Lee's friend, the weight of an out-
raged public sentiment would be thrown against
him. Added to this the consciousness of Lee's
peril, with the practical certainty of conviction and
the death-penalty awaiting him. George thought
of the mountainous task before the man who
should finally defend Lee.
The silence of the grave closed about him as he
entered the house. Even the fresh air seemed
left behind and the chill of a winter's night fell
upon him. Dr. Kendricks, the minister, was just
coming from the drawing-room. His face had
lost its blandness and his hand did not extend it-
self. He frowned upon George, every line of his
frock-coated, comfortable figure a rebuke. He
started to pass with a single word, but stopped,
reluctantly.
“Many of the preparations have been made for
the funeral, and your aid would have been great.
146


A SECOND APPEAL
I wish you might have stayed here. Unfortunate
rumours have reached me of the use you have
made of this morning.” Criticism was in his
eyes, and his gesture was that of repulsion.
“Then the district attorney has told his story
already?”
“It’s all over town by now. I heard it while
returning here a few minutes ago. Everybody is
amazed. It has created a sensation through the
town second only to Mr. Maston's death. People
would never have expected such action from
you.”
He waited for some response.
“I suppose so,” George said. The meaning of
his temporary support of Lee had grown clearer.
No man owed deeper gratitude to Mr. Maston
than did he, and none should have shown more
respect to his memory. People would misin-
terpret the effort to gain Lee a fair trial, and talk
darkly of the protection given him while Mr.
Maston lay yet unburied. “Has Ruth been told
of Davidson's arrest?” George asked quickly.
“Er—no, not yet. Dr. Woodruff was afraid
the shock would prove too great, so told us to
keep it from her as long as possible. No one has
quite dared to say to her that her father was — er
– to say how her father died. It cannot be con-
cealed much longer. She must soon learn, but it
I47


A SECOND APPEAL
ders, holding herself erect. “You must n’t believe
it, you must n’t, you must n’t ! Lee could never
have done that | He Won’t you tell me you
don’t believe it? — He did n’t do it, because —
because He loves me, George, he loves me,
he loves me, and he could n’t have done it!”
The weakness of a moment before came back,
her voice died huskily away, her arms grew limp,
and she sank to the couch, for the first time giving
way to the tears of desolation.
George felt that the battle in his soul between
reason and impulse was nearing its end. Influ-
ences beyond his control were driving him on till
it seemed there could be no further hesitancy.
But he braced himself and remained calm even
against Ruth's pleading and tears. His judgment
was still his own, though his voice shook.
“Would I do anything to shield Lee if I knew he
had injured Uncle Tom ?” he asked, waiting till
Ruth had become quiet again. “Remember that
when you hear what I’ve decided. I was the first
man in Woodford to believe Lee guilty. But I’ve
changed my attitude. Now I’m the only man
who does n’t believe him guilty. I don't believe
him innocent yet, but I’m hoping to, and am try-
ing to keep my mind open. What he said to me
this morning has had great influence with me, and
your faith in him still more. But it must be de-
I5 I


THE UNSEEN J U RY
cided right. Uncle Tom would have wished us to
give time to it. You believe him innocent now,
but everybody will try to shake your belief. So I
want you to promise me something. No matter
what people say to you, Dr. Kendricks, your aunt
or uncle or anybody else, I want you to continue
to believe Lee absolutely innocent, till I tell you
he's guilty. Do you promise?”
Through the afternoon George stayed with
Ruth. He persuaded her to eat something, talk-
ing the while of the old days in Woodford, in an
effort to lessen in her mind the burden of the
tragedy. His early life was singularly clear in
memory that day, with constant thoughts of Mr.
Maston. Once, toward evening, he fancied that
his old friend was before him with a smile of ap-
proval.
I52


CHAPTER XVIII
AN UNWELCOME SOLUTION
ON leaving Ruth George took a long walk, the
infinite night with its mystery pervading his very
soul. A life beloved of all had been snatched
away by some pitiless hand, and yet the sky bent
warmly over him and the quiet stars shone on.
The incident had made no change in the external
world. For the first time he faced the truth that
there is no sympathy in nature. Occasionally
river or mountain or ocean may seem to respond
to human need, but there can be no dependence.
The gentlest heart in the universe may be
wrenched to the breaking, or the fairest per-
sonality be blotted from view, and the unclouded
sun will smile happily over the brown October
fields and continue his journey unmindful.
The stillness surrounding George was oppress-
ive. Pine-trees by the roadside stood grimly
silent as he passed, and impenetrable darkness
lurked in the underbrush. No sound save his
own footfalls—“Guilty, Guilty, Guilty / " they
kept repeating.
His return brought him to the bridge, the scene
I53


THE UN SEEN J U RY
of the tragedy. A leafy branch touched his
cheek, and the water beneath him sang merrily
on without pausing to give its secret. Now and
then there was a note in the minor key, but an in-
stant and it was gone.
Alone at the scene of Mr. Maston's death, in
the uncertain darkness, with nothing to guide or
interrupt, George wrestled with his problem. All
he had known of Lee's life came back, and his
face as he had seen it on that very bridge, hateful,
impulsive, reckless. The discreditable incidents
passed before him. They held but one argument.
For years Lee's course had been steadily down-
ward, and what wonder that he should have
taken the final step, when his weakened self-
restraint had been taxed to the utmost. It is dif-
ficult to believe that one near us should commit
crime. But crime is simplicity indeed—the end
of a logical progression.
With triple emphasis all the evidence returned.
What more than actually to have seen Lee mur-
der Mr. Maston could George demand * No eye
had observed the crime, but was there need of
such witness? Everything pointed to Lee, and to
an unprejudiced mind Mr. Maston's death must be
patent. A clear-thinking man would have known
that violence to her father would put Ruth forever
beyond reach, but men in great excitement are
I54


AN UN WELCOME SOLUTION
not clear-thinking, and Lee above all men I
Prudence and forethought and caution were alike
strangers to his nature.
But what of his appearance that morning? It
pointed to innocence indeed, but with no certainty.
A man's thoughts may often be read in his face,
but the method is not a safe one. Hatred and
vice and guilt can mask themselves behind
countenances serene and lofty, while the blotches
and wrinkles of degradation may hide spirits that
however impossibly look ever upward.
Lee's words had been those of an innocent man,
and his bearing guiltless, but could he be trusted?
Was a favourable impression sufficient? The
man who had never been sincere was appealing
for belief in his sincerity of a day, and he who had
always been impulsive and quick-acting was now
subdued and dignified. What credit should be
given the change that had come?
The evidence against Lee kept presenting it-
self. His temperament, markedly excitable and
reckless: his threats against Mr. Maston: his
knowledge that Mr. Maston had definitely stepped
between himself and Ruth : Ruth’s letter: the
quarrel during the afternoon: his admission that
he had again sought Mr. Maston at night. And
the facts that must subsequently come out.
George felt the full weight of the case against
I55


THE UNSEEN JURY
Lee, and yet unreasoning hope stayed with
him.
At a late hour he was in his room. From long
consideration of Lee's position, his mind turned
to Ruth and the influence the tragedy and forth-
coming trial must have upon her life. How im-
possible it seemed that she should escape endless
suffering.
Then his mind slipped into yet another channel,
and he followed Mr. Maston through all the years
he had known him. The memories that returned
were strange, with dark contrasts and perplexing
enigmas. His old friend had held the affection of
men more firmly than anybody he had ever
known. And yet some man had brought great
fear into his life. From what reason? George
would have supposed Mr. Maston without enemies
in the world, had he not once said that all men
have enemies and that he was no exception. His
temperament was sunny and cheerful, and yet
George had known him to brood for hours as
though over a threatening danger. He was com-
panionable and a delightful talker, but he was a
man also of great silences.
The recollections of Mr. Maston kept shaping
themselves. Hardest to understand of all was his
sudden illness five years before. He had left home
in abounding health, to return after a few days on
156


THE UN SEEN JURY
Whatever the approaching calamity, Mr. Mas-
ton had been prepared for its coming. He had
never gone to bed without readiness for death.
Yet there was slight danger of violence reaching
him. Each night the house was secured, and it is
doubtful if an enemy could have entered un-
noticed.
Vague theorizing, however, would not answer.
Mr. Maston was dead. Lee would be tried for his
murder, and, for aught George could see, speedily
convicted. And what of Ruth ? What save
ashes would be left to her life, if her father were
proven to have been killed by a man who loved
her and because of that love, especially if the law
gave to Lee its extreme penalty. Some girls
might outgrow such a catastrophe, but Ruth
never.
A breeze came through the window to the large
wicker chair where George sat. He had eaten
nothing for many hours, and was faint and ex-
hausted under the strain of the day. He tasted
some fruit and started to the dresser. He was
thinking of the only witness thus far discovered
in Lee's favour, the little boy who had seen two
men loitering in the woods the day before.
He leaned forward suddenly. Another memory
— the face of a man he had once seen talking to
Mr. Maston — floated before him. The trend of
I58


AN UN WELCOME SOLUTION
his thinking changed entirely. Of all blows that
had fallen that day, this was the hardest borne.
Bits of the conversation came back, words that
had seemed odd at the time now full of meaning,
but most startling of all the man himself, his eyes
cunning and alive with greed, his manner so dif-
ferent from those who were wont to call on Mr.
Maston. Slowly George began to find meaning
behind this strange visit. That the man had been
an enemy and the bearer of threats he felt certain,
remembering that Mr. Maston's unexplained ill-
ness had shortly after come upon him. Connec-
tion between the illness and the visit just preced-
ing was now for the first time apparent. The
man's words and his whole bearing little by little
fitted themselves into a new theory that grouped
together the visit, the illness and Mr. Maston's
death. “It may not be for years,” the man had
said, “but it’s surely coming.”
The tragedy of the closing years of Mr. Mas-
ton's life grew darker still to George as he pieced
together the fragments of a convincing story.
With every enlargement of the theory greater
were the chances of misfortune and more difficult
the problem given him for solution. The matter
at first had touched Lee's future, with an indirect
bearing upon Ruth. Now with the entrance of
Mr. Maston's earlier life as a factor, his very repu-
I59


THE UNSEEN J U RY
tation might be at stake, and consequently Ruth's
happiness in a way never before suspected. The
tangled threads seemed to become more hopeless
of adjustment, the longer he studied them. What-
ever the mystery behind the tragedy, it was some-
thing that must never see the light. The general
character began to shape itself. George looked
as though a specter had risen before him, and felt
as does the man who sees grass springing up over
dead hopes.
He fell into a chair, physically exhausted, but
with mind alert fighting the problem out to clear-
ness. Presently he rose and threw himself on the
bed. A new-born determination stayed with him.
Whatever the shadows in Mr. Maston's life, they
should for all time remain concealed from Ruth
and the world. If anything discreditable to his
reputation were discovered, it should never reach
publicity. Ruth's ideal of her father should for-
ever remain unlowered. One way only presented
itself for accomplishing this end.
Through the long night George heard the clocks
strike wearily.
I6O


CHAPTER XIX
THE DECISIVE STEP
“AND you do not admit even now that you
were rash, that Davidson deserves no assistance
whatever beyond that he can buy from stran-
gers? 99
It was the morning after Mr. Maston's funeral,
and the speaker, a man middle-aged and with
kindly wrinkles edging his forehead, was still un-
der the gloom the tragedy had thrown over all
Woodford. His expression would have been
stern but for the friendship of years.
“No, I’m glad I did it.”
“But, surely, you cannot have weighed the
cost. You do not appreciate the position it gives
you here !”
“Perhaps not,” George answered.
Three days, however, had taught him much.
The most expressive thing in the world — a hos-
tile public sentiment— had hourly been turning
against him. There was but one voice—condem-
nation—as to the aid he had given Lee. Strangers,
without hesitance, charged him with dishonour,
while his friends, by letter and personal appeal,
I61


THE UNSEEN J U RY
made spirited effort to change his course. His
acquaintances, without seeking to understand his
motives, openly joined the condemning multi-
tude.
The newspapers did much to swell indignation.
Mr. Maston's standing in the community, the fact
that the supposed motive for the crime was rich in
the “love element” so welcome to sensationalism,
and the uniqueness in place and manner of death
gave wide interest to the case and the metropolitan
dailies made it a feature. Next in the desire of the
reporters to convict Lee was a willingness to
shower blame on the only man who had befriended
him.
Thus at the start George knew that the incalcu-
lable influence of the press would be thrown
against Lee. This strengthened more than ever
the purpose in his first talk with Ruth after the
tragedy, that she should not yield to the argu-
ments against Lee that must speedily reach her.
The three days since Mr. Maston's death, be-
sides bringing a grasp of the dangers confronting
Lee, had carried responsibility. George felt bound
to discover all the evidence bearing on his inter-
pretation of the facts. To this end he searched
the papers on Mr. Maston's desk, and scanned the
postmarks on hundreds of old letters. He exam-
ined the stubs of many old check-books. He went
I62


THE DECISIVE STEP
to the woods near the bridge and looked narrowly
at the ground for a hundred yards either side the
brook. In every way he sought foundation for
his theory of the tragedy — Revenge. He talked
with the boy who had seen the two strangers near
the bridge, but the identification of either with the
man who had come to see Mr. Maston years be-
fore was too uncertain for acceptance. Much
closer connecting links must be found.
George was equally alert in learning the full
strength of the case against Lee. The hostility
that had arisen from his befriending the prisoner
would have made his quest for information dif-
ficult. But so intense was public curiosity about
the case, and so thoroughly did the newspapers
handle it that George was in possession of the facts
almost as soon as the district attorney himself.
The more he studied the evidence, the clearer he
saw the solidity of the case for the prosecution,
and the shadowy and indistinct nature of all he
knew in Lee's favour. He might believe from
facts in his possession alone, that Mr. Maston's
death had come from some avenging hand, and
later discoveries of evidence might increase this
belief to an absolute certainty. But unless the
facts were in such guise as to be admissible before
a jury, and after that to be proof against sledge-
hammer arguments and ridicule of the prosecu-
163


THE DECISIVE STEP
but he felt a tightening of the lips and an uplift of
the head. Men moved to one side on his ap-
proach as though not caring to associate with him.
Some who had been accustomed to speak from
slight acquaintance deliberately looked away.
The ingrate is by all men most despised, and the
long years Mr. Maston had held public affection
added to the bitterness facing George.
No effort was made to hide comment. One or
two sentences reached his ears.
“To think of him doin’ it, — him of all men l”
an iron-jawed farmer exclaimed angrily.
“That's right !” assented somebody, little
thinking how far the words carried, “and the man
who shields a murderer is n’t much better him-
Self l”
The unfriendly aspect of people outside the
building and in the hot corridors was little more
than preparation for the feeling that met George
as he forced himself into the room where the hear-
ing was about to begin. An angry murmur ran
through the tightly congested throng and faces
spoke condemnation on every side. Nowhere
was there a glance of favour as he found his seat
in a corner. A man on the right whom he had
known for years edged away, making no reply to
his word of greeting.
The district attorney, come to assist in the ex-
I65


THE DECISIVE STEP
The absolute certainty of manner shown by the
district attorney was a good sign. Many a case
has crumbled into nothingness by the assumption
at the outset that only one theory was tenable.
Less sureness of the ground beneath them would
have made the officers of the government more
painstaking.
Another hopeful sign was the bearing medical
experts must have upon the case. Even a cursory
following of the criminal courts will show how ab-
solutely at variance the opinions of recognized ex-
perts may be.
When the doctors had finished their testimony,
the men who had seen Lee enter and leave the
Maston place came forward, and nothing could
have been more positive than their identifica-
tion.
“Why, I can’t be mistaken l” said the one who
had seen him enter. “I’m as sure that he’s the
man as I am of being in this room. There’s no
doubt whatever it was Davidson. I’d risk my
life On it !”
A sigh of satisfaction swept through the crowd,
and its interest quickened.
“How near were you to him?”
The room bent forward in painful silence, and
the witness evidently understood the import of his
testimony, for he became exceedingly solemn. “I
167


THE UNSEEN J U RY
could have touched him l’’ he answered with re-
luctance.
The district attorney's face flashed victory.
“Did you notice anything about his man-
ner?”
“He acted nervous-like and ashamed, and tried
not to look straight at me.”
To many this gave assurance, and Mr. Taylor
slipped more comfortably into his chair. But
George found in the words a deeper conviction
that he was standing for the right. If Lee had
sought Mr. Maston at a late hour, with violence
seething in his heart, he would not have shown
light embarrassment. The evidence was in line
with his statement that he had come with an
apology on his lips for past discourtesy.
Other witnesses continued the testimony, their
evidence varying in weight, but all of it pressing
down upon Lee. His excitable nature, instances
of sudden temper which had carried him far be-
yond self-control, were rehearsed, and — more
damaging than all else — the threats he had made,
and his attempt to quarrel with Mr. Maston but a
few hours before the tragedy.
The crowd's temper was rising, and it must
soon be manifested. The district attorney
thought a moment, then nodded to an attendant.
Every eye was on the big sheriff as he entered
I68


THE DECISIVE STEP
with Lee. The prisoner's face, though white and
tired, was unconscious of the stir. His eyes did
not seek acquaintances in the room. A new re-
serve had come over him.
“I shall not keep you long, Mr. Davidson,” the
district attorney's voice began smoothly; “there
are only a few matters I wish to ask about.”
“I refuse to answer any and all questions !”
Lee replied.
Repeated efforts were made to break his deter-
mination, but without effect, and they soon led him
away. When the door closed, the district attor-
ney stiffened.
“George Hunter !” he called.
It was not imagination that told George of thick
anger opening before him and closing behind as
he worked his way forward.
“You knew the late Mr. Maston ?”
“Yes.”
“He was on more intimate terms with you than
with any other man?”
“I think S.O.”
“You had been a member of his family for
years?”
“Since childhood.”
Many preliminary questions followed, and then
the district attorney came to the night of the trag.
edy. He grew more insistent.
169


THE UN SEEN J U RY
“You were with Mr. Maston several hours the
evening of the night on which he died?”
“Yes.”
“You saw him leave the house a few minutes
before eleven P”
“Yes.”
“And you found the body floating in the brook
at about seven o'clock the next morning ?”
“The coachman and I found it.”
“Have you formed any opinion in your own
mind as to the cause of Mr. Maston's death?’”
“Not with finality.”
“Do you know the name of any person, other
than the one already arrested, who in your judg-
ment could be implicated?”
“NO.”
The people who had leaned forward for the an-
swer frowned their disappointment.
Next the district attorney proceeded to draw out
facts relative to Mr. Maston's temperament, his
habits and mode of life. Then his attention came
back to Lee again. He asked many questions,
mostly pertaining to his hot-headedness. It seemed
that nothing prejudicial to Lee's character was left
untouched.
At length the district attorney returned to the
time when George had been awakened and had
gone out to the discovery of Mr. Maston's body.
17o


THE UN SEEN JURY
“Very well, then l” the voice hardened in com-
mand. “What did the prisoner say to you?”
Unbearable suspense rested over the room as
men awaited the answer.
“I refuse to tell you,” George replied slowly;
“these statements were all made to me at a time
when I was acting as Mr. Davidson's temporary
counsel. They are therefore privileged.”
“Then you are no longer his counsel ?”
“I am not his temporary counsel. I saw him
this morning and he consented to let me defend
him permanently l”
The hearing ended in confusion and excitement,
and George passed quickly out. Nobody spoke
to him, in words, but the very atmosphere was
alive with meaning.
Lee Davidson was held without bail for the
Grand Jury.
172


CHAPTER XX
AGAINST WIND AND CURRENT
AN acute observer, seated on the comfortable
side of the English Channel a trifle less than a
hundred years ago, in attempting to describe
Napoleon might have spoken wisely and at length.
But a more interesting idea of his genius would
have come in a few words from some general who
had stood in his path, before Nature in the snows
of Russia and the rain at Waterloo entered pro-
test against him.
Men talk idly of the force of public opinion,
often without thought that they are dealing with
the second strongest thing in the world, the most
fickle and the hardest to withstand. George was
about to experience, through intimate acquaintance,
the extent of this power. Hardly was Mr. Maston
in his grave and Ruth gone for a time to visit her
uncle than the full tide of popular indignation set
in against him. Letters reached him by the
score, urging that he withdraw from the David-
son case, with warnings of the injury his present
course was making to his reputation.
The efforts of appeal and argument struck no
I73


THE UN SEEN J U RY
response in his mind. He was thinking of Lee's
future, dark with uncertainty and peril, and the
manliness and quiet courage with which he faced
it. The mystery in Mr. Maston's life was another
topic that bound George more and more anx-
iously. What was it and how could it be solved
without throwing a shadow over Ruth's life?
Who was the man who had come to see him
shortly before his strange illness, and what sud-
den terror had he left behind to shatter health and
banish ease of mind? George remembered the
shock in his old friend's face when the man had
gone, and, though he had seen the stranger but a
moment, recalled the repulsion one glimpse had
given. The face was treacherous and the man
seemed born to a life in the dark. Though he
had heard nothing of him for years, nor seen him
but once, George felt instinctively that this man
must be connected with Mr. Maston's death, or at
least be able to throw light upon it. The man
must be found, and then, whatever his explana-
tion or knowledge of the tragedy, George felt his
purpose become granite. Lee must be cleared
without publishing one fact that could reflect on
Mr. Maston. The mystery must reach solution,
though the facts when they came might be of a
character that could not be used in Lee's behalf.
Who Mr. Maston's enemy was, and the cause of
I74


AGAINST WIND AND CURRENT
his hunger for revenge, there was as yet no way
of determining.
Before Ruth left Woodford, George had a long
talk with her, and it left him stronger for the task
ahead. In the graceful black figure, the dazed
face and the heartache and nervous strain over all,
there was new appeal to his inmost nature.
That last evening they were together in one of
the parlours, for the memories prevented their use
of the library. Ruth could not speak of her fa-
ther to other people, but to George she had talked
freely. Their long friendship had made it natural
for her to confide in him, and she did so without
restraint. Beneath the minutes as they wore
away ran common anxiety, and they looked for-
ward to the advancing months with equal dread.
Ruth's voice was hesitant and shrinking with fear
when she came to the chief question.
“Do you still think he's innocent?”
“Yes, more confidently than ever. My cer-
tainty is greater with every hour. The best
proof is the way Lee carries himself. I would n’t
have supposed he had so much courage in him.”
Ruth looked up in quick joy. “I’m glad to
hear you say that !” she whispered.
“And you won’t forget your promise — to be-
lieve him innocent till I tell you he's guilty?”
“I will remember.” Her glance carried ten-
I75


THE UN SEEN J U RY
derness of regard and admiration. George
noticed the show of feeling and thought how
naturally and profoundly Lee's efforts to play
the man had touched her.
“There's something you might do,” he sug-
gested, “the trial won't come for months yet, and
Lee, especially since his other friends are not com-
ing to his support, — must be alone a great deal.
That will wear on him, so I wish you’d write him
as often as you can. Your belief when all the
world doubts him will take away half his trouble.”
“Father would have wished that, I know.
And what else were you going to ask?”
“After a little time, when you’ve grown strong
again, I wish you'd let me take you to see him in
prison. That would show better than all else that
your faith was unshaken.”
Every act, however simple, bears its influence.
The few things George had done for Lee had
given, perhaps as reward, an increase of his own
love for Ruth till he knew that his happiness was
forever bound up in her life. Grief for Mr. Maston
carried with it the hope that he might be the cause
of future happiness to Ruth and her shield from
misfortune.
“George, I want to tell you something.”
Ruth's hand on the table came a little closer, as
though pleading for assistance. “People are
176


AGAINST wiND AND CURRENT
making it so hard for me, by trying to persuade
me to believe things against Lee. Even my aunt
has talked about it, and when I go home with her,
it will be still worse. I’ve stopped reading the
newspapers, but I can't prevent people talking to
influence me!”
“Don’t let it change you !” George exclaimed,
“for it’s just that which makes your opportunity.
The more people talk, the better your chance to
stand up for Lee. When a man is in trouble he
can appreciate his friends. You and I are about
the only ones Lee now has.”
For several days after Ruth's leaving George
was alone, wandering aimlessly through the empty
house or under the old trees, never for a moment
escaping the problem he had chosen for solution.
The burden of Lee's defence made him quite will-
ing to be deserted in Woodford, and this was the
course generally adopted by the townspeople.
Men still spoke to him, but with growing reluc-
tance, and he fancied that silent contempt thence-
forward would reward his conduct. There was
however to be one more positive protest.
Three men drove up to the house and met
George returning from the bridge in the late
afternoon. His eyes were upon the ground and his
manner distracted, and he did not notice at once
their near approach. Dr. Kendricks, darker and
177


THE UNSEEN JURY
more clerically severe than ever, was on the rear
seat, and by his side, Mr. Upson, a thin-faced
lawyer, sat in discomfort and ill at ease. In front
a little red-faced man, unbending and with the as-
surance of judges, senators and statesmen com-
mingled, gazed straight ahead. The sunjust drop-
ping behind the trees outlined the complacency of
Mr. Stephen D. Bumstead as, with expansive waist-
coat and hair touched with gray, he slowly climbed
from the carriage, shook himself together and came
forward. Mr. Bumstead, a man formerly in es-
teem through the town but unpopular now from his
self-admiration, always appointed himself the head
of any committee he joined, and he was clearly
the spokesman of the present group. George
drew back involuntarily from the caressing smile
to his companions and the general importance.
The three shook hands a bit stiffly, Mr. Upson
remaining in the background, as though of no de-
sire to be present.
“We have called,” Dr. Kendricks began in the
deep voice that foretold a sentence well-rounded
and symmetrical. “We have called with a desire
to acquaint you with certain—”
Mr. Bumstead cut him short. “The fact is, Mr.
Hunter, that though we have not been appointed
by anybody, and though we do not claim to rep-
resent authoritatively any sentiment other than
178


AGAINST WIND AND CURRENT
our own, we have come to see you with the hope
— I might almost say with the confident expecta-
tion, and with the firm belief,” he moistened his
lips, the veins on his temple more prominent,
“that is, h-m-m-m-m, I mean to say that we wish
to make clear to you the feeling in this town
against your defence of Lee Davidson, and to ask
you to withdraw from the case at once. We ask
you to withdraw, and in fact I might almost say
that speaking for myself, I demand it. Yes, we
demand it! It is beyond the bounds of decency
for you to continue longer your present course!”
“I shall be glad to hear the grounds on which
you base your demand,” George replied, his eye-
brows arching a trifle.
Mr. Bumstead began at once, but he was breath-
less, and Dr. Kendricks broke in.
“It is the fact that you should be the man de-
fending him People here in Woodford have al-
ways liked you, but they do not forget that you
owe to Mr. Maston all your position and influence.
They take it hard that you do not remember your
debt to his memory, and that you should be de-
fending Davidson when the evidence of his guilt is
so convincing.”
“But it is purely circumstantial, and at the best
that’s a dangerous thing to follow. When I en-
tered the case, nobody else could have been found
I79


THE UN SEEN J U RY
immediately, and quick action was necessary.
And more than that, no matter what the proba-
bility of a man's guilt, he should be given some
chance to prove his innocence.”
“That’s not the point! That's not the point!”
Mr. Bumstead shook an excited forefinger and
bristled his displeasure. “I might almost say that
it has nothing to do with the matter. Davidson
should of course be defended, though no man
could put much heart into such a hopeless case.
Somebody will make money by going through
the form of defending him, but you’re not the
right man. It is n’t your ability as a lawyer that
counts, it is the position you have had in Mr.
Maston's family and the influence your standing
for Davidson must give. We protest against your
helping him this way, and everybody in Wood-
ford sides with us. Think of your taking this
guilty man under protection when no one else in
town would lift a finger !”
“You judge him already guilty?”
“Yes, indeed! The district attorney told me
to-day”—Mr. Upson flashed warning, butthere was
no pause – “that from the new evidence he has
found, there is not and cannot be the slightest
doubt of conviction l”
“Then certainly no harm can come from my de-
fending him l”
18O


AGAINST WIND AND CURRENT
Mr. Bumstead was of the type of men who take
personal delight in criticising their fellows. He
continued overbearingly, his face yet redder, his
smoothness gone, his frown vital with accusation
and contempt. George listened in silence, his
will evidencing no flexibility to the pressure
given.
“People all over town are saying that you de-
cided to defend Davidson from selfishness only, for
what you could make out of the case and not be-
cause you thought him innocent. He is rich and
your eyes were wide open from the start. You
were the first to grasp the opportunity for the
money-making. People agree on this now, and
they say 9%
Mr. Bumstead finished his sentence, but George
did not hear it. A golden opportunity had floated
within his grasp. Above all things he wanted to
be left alone, while working on his theory of Mr.
Maston's death. The solution, when it came, he
believed would prove of a type that could not be
given publicity. He must therefore be the only
one to reach it. If the district attorney and other
officials thought he shared their certainty of Lee's
guilt, but had taken the case solely for personal
gain, they would probe no further into the
mystery, but spend their energy perfecting the
case already framed.
I8I


THE UNSEEN J U R Y
George resolved to offer no hindrance to the
popular thought so rapidly crystallizing into this
opinion. “Nobody has taken the trouble to ask
me my motives, so we need not consider them.
Winning this case would of course be a good
thing for me, professionally l”
Mr. Upson sadly stroked his hair. “I am very,
very sorry. No lawyer of standing, in your posi-
tion, would have mixed himself up in this mat-
ter. It will bring you money, and what is still
more valuable to a lawyer — publicity. The pa-
pers will be full of the trial, for Mr. Maston was a
well-known man, and you may, as so many promi-
nent lawyers have done before you, gain great
benefit in your practice. And yet,” his eyes
were sincere in friendly regret, “I wish you had
left the case alone. I am very sorry for you !”
Dr. Kendricks' expression was midway between
rebuke and anger. “You cannot understand how
deeply you have shocked me ! I had hoped all
along that possibly you might have found some
other explanation for the tragedy—that you could
prove it an accident, or if murder it must be, that
some man other than Davidson was guilty.”
“The evidence the district attorney has gath-
ered does n’t point to anybody else, I believe.”
Mr. Bumstead had not spoken for minutes, un-
able to find utterance for his feeling. “You’re
I82


AGAINST WIND AND CURRENT
acting just as I said you were,” his crackling voice
jarred on the conversation, “but I’m glad we
came, for now we can tell others your position. I
have but one word to express my disgust. Your
conduct is shameful, sir, shameful, shameful! You
have a legal right to defend this man, but no gen-
tleman situated as you are would have done it.
A legal right, yes, but a moral—none whatever!”
He moved nearer. “As a last appeal, I ask you:
Will you withdraw from this case?”
“No,” George answered.
Mr. Bumstead paced up and down, fiercely ag-
gressive. “Your talk to-day,” threat and a joyful
prophecy were in the words, “will solidify public
opinion. Nobody has doubted Davidson's guilt,
but people have heretofore hoped that you might
be acting from mistaken but generous motives.
Of course any idea you may have had of proving
Davidson innocent has not been taken seriously,
for the best lawyers in the state, on hearing the
evidence, have told me that conviction is certain.
Now we understand that you have never hoped to
clear an innocent man. You are simply aiding a
guilty man in his efforts to escape the just pen-
alty 1”
The three rose to go. “And another thing,”
Mr. Bumstead locked his hands behind him, “you
remain Davidson's counsel, but knowing the full
183


THE UNSEEN JURY
cost. The risk is all your own. If you had with-
drawn from the case even now, your connection
with it thus far would not greatly injure you. But
continuing to stand in front of Davidson, your
own good name is the forfeit. The best people in
Woodford will look down on you. Your name
will be classed with Davidson's to the end of your
life. Mention of Mr. Maston's death will always
recall the man who killed him, and that other man
who for money considerations vainly tried to shield
the murderer from justice l"
He wiped his forehead, condemningly, and
glanced to his two companions. They nodded
their assent.
“So be it, gentlemen!” George answered, and
watched them pass slowly down the drive.
184


CHAPTER XXI
A NEW COMPLICATION
THE hot summer days droning wearily by
brought the first of August, with George no nearer
a solution of his problem, nor any more confident
in the final triumph of the cause he supported.
Much of the time he was compelled to spend at
the office, but even there the case engrossed him
almost to the neglect of other business. His im-
pression the morning of undertaking Lee's defence
was now settled belief, that none of the resources
commonly used in murder trials would avail.
Alibi — even if George could whole-heartedly
have attempted to convince the jury that Lee had
been at another place the hour of Mr. Maston's
death, after his own admission to the contrary, a
thought of the district attorney banished the idea.
No liar would dare face Mr. Taylor's cross-ex-
amination, and the plight of the honest man,
momentarily confused as to hour or date, would
be quite as painful. Self-Defence — that could not
be considered, for Mr. Maston's nature, even,
kindly, unruffled by the ill-will of others, was a
decisive obstacle. Justification of any other type
185


THE UNSEEN JURY
– there was none and none could be invented.
Emotional Insanity – since intoxication may not
be pleaded as excuse for crime, its twin-brother
often gives successful defence. That a man by
brooding over real or fancied wrongs may bring
himself to such frenzy that for the time he can
neither understand the nature of crime nor avoid
committing it—though quite able the next mo-
ment to resume normal intercourse with his fel-
lows, – this is the theory freely accepted by weak-
kneed juries. George discarded all these faint
possibilities. Such defences would have been
founded on falsehood, and Mr. Maston's character
and the respect publicly paid to his memory would
have made any one of them a greater injury than
assistance. Should the belief George personally
held prove true, that Mr. Maston had been mur-
dered for revenge by a man other than Lee, even
that could not be introduced without the sacrifice
of interests equally great. The course safest for
all would be to advance evidence tending to show
that Mr. Maston had been the victim of accident
or violent disease—and for this fortunately there
was some ground — but to spend the greatest
effort breaking the links of the chain constructed
by the district attorney. There was in this no
underestimating the strength of the prosecution's
CaSe.
186


THE UN SEEN J U RY
Lee's friendship as it developed touched George
greatly. It soon became as pronounced as his
former enmity had been. When one is down to
the last man in the world willing to stand by, grat-
itude and affection reach out with a grip not to be
loosened, and friendship no longer is of passing
significance.
Lee's manner brightened whenever George
came, and no matter how long they talked his eyes
followed him wistfully down the long corridor.
He offered many suggestions as to the conduct of
the case, though freely accepting as wiser the
other's judgment. The letters that came to him
with advice or information of dubious quality,
he turned over to George without comment. The
old impulsiveness that gave no reckoning to the
future, resting all things on present whim, had
given way to the stress of his necessities.
He never took the initiative in speaking of
Ruth — though he did not know George loved
her he had long suspected it — and yet once her
name was mentioned he would talk long and
eagerly. His chief dread since his arrest, greater
even than his fear of conviction or his regret that
public opinion against him should be so bitter,
was that she should ever lose faith in his inno-
cence. This question he asked repeatedly, seek-
ing assurance above even the many letters she
I88


A NEW COMPLICATION
wrote him. He had guessed the efforts that were
making to persuade her to change her opinion,
and though he had no doubt of the result, the
pressure wore upon him. George never called
without bringing some message of confidence
Ruth had written or spoken. Her continued faith
saved Lee much depression.
In their early friendship, next to his courage
and quiet facing of the future, George was con-
scious of one fact, the way Lee's better nature was
coming to the surface. Heredity and environment
play great part in the shaping of men's lives, but
only in adjusting and relating the good and evil,
never in eliminating either. No man is so good
but that somewhere within him devils of selfishness
and cruelty are waiting to rush forth if once un-
chained. It is also true that nobody is down so
low as to be entirely beyond the hearing of his
nobler voices. A rough hulk of a man, battered
and seamed and sodden, stood on a corner and
swore roundly at a piece of brutality in the street.
It was one of the most inspiring sermons ever de-
livered.
The shock of his arrest was an influence of the
kind Lee chiefly needed. He had drifted his in-
dolent way through life, thinking and caring noth-
ing of the character he built up. Now his easy,
happy life had ended, and with iron abruptness.
189


THE UNSEEN J U RY
The blow would have been crushing to many, but
in Lee it brought out a virility of character and
an endurance unguessed before.
George recalled their talks prior to Mr. Mas-
ton's death, and smiled to think how bitter Lee's
feeling then and what friends they were now be-
coming. He thought of their quarrel on the
bridge, and of his finding Ruth waiting in ap-
prehension for his return. All he had then told
her came back to him. He had said that Lee
was unworthy of her love but that some day he
might change. He remembered his promise to
tell her should this change ever come.
It was late afternoon and George was driving
back to Woodford. He was no nearer under-
standing Mr. Maston's death, but the tragedy was
weeks behind, and Lee's trial would not be called
for three months more. His own future claimed
him. Dreams of Ruth were gathering in his mind
and of his happiness when, Lee's peril a dark
memory, and Mr. Maston's death proven to the
world to have been accidental or from natural
causes, his hopes as they affected Ruth could en-
gage his every thought.
Of an instant the dreams vanished and he sat
erect. The future might be more difficult. What
if the change already seen in Lee were preparatory
to a greater and lasting change? What if the
I90


A NEW COMPLICATION
man's character on passing through the fire should
come out clean and without flaw That was a
result of the trial he had not foreseen. The possi-
bilities made him afraid. Lee might grow every
day for months, now started he probably would.
And the influence of this upon George?
If Lee's manhood increased daily till the trial,
one course only was open. As a matter of honour
George must then tell Ruth that his prejudice
against Lee was gone, and that her father if living
would have no further objection to him. Worthy
of all admiration is the man who has gone down
in character, but by his own will-power has fought
his way back again. Added to this Ruth's sym-
pathy for Lee during the trial, and her former re-
gard would quicken into affection, and that into
love, and on his acquittal they would marry.
Thus duty to an innocent man urged George on
to his greatest efforts, even though success meant
that Ruth be forever lost to him. Angry revolt
sprang up within him at the situation and the reins
shook in his hands.
When parting from Lee that afternoon he had
noticed one of Ruth's letters on the table. He
knew she wrote Lee often; it had never troubled
him for such had been his suggestion. But he
began to recall other incidents. How often Ruth
talked about Lee and the depth of her sympathy
I9I


THE UNSEEN JURY
even now. Her desire, repeated again and again,
that he should lack nothing of the comforts possi-
ble to him. Her dread lest confinement should be
undermining his health, her indignation at the
harsh stories published about him, her happiness
at his good spirits, her delight when anything ap-
peared with promise of aid to the defence.
George was not jealous—he could not feel jeal-
ousy toward a man in the shadow of death — but
he wished, almost with an agony of longing, that
the new conflict had not come. The task already
given him would prove sufficient for his strength.
Why had this other difficulty been added? Why
could not his mind have been left with but a sin-
gle worry? For weeks he had carried Lee's de-
fence, against obstacles of prejudice and public ill-
favour, conscious always of the strength of the
prosecution's case. How light the former problem
now seemed ! The task of winning acquittal was
easy, compared with the necessity afterward of
watching his own happiness in Ruth taken away.
Was he strong enough for the situation ? Could
he go on without faltering? He might lavish his
time for months on Lee, work for him till exhausted
in body and mind, if need be surrender all other
friends, but could he give up Ruth ? Could he
put his whole heart into Lee's defence, if success
meant losing Ruth forever?
I92


A NEW COMPLICATION
And Ruth was dearer to him and more essential
with every day. Her nature unfolding before him
held new attraction, an appeal to his deeper self
that had never been reached by others. The
change in her character during recent weeks was
marked. Some girls are made for sunshine only.
Their charm withers, they lose their attractiveness
under adversity or trouble. Selfishness and bitter
memories come in to dull the feelings, and their
natures grow hard and repelling. It is as though
they were one-sided of development, with no
strength, no beauty apart from happiness. Their
greatest loss from misfortune is not external.
Ruth impressed George otherwise. Her char-
acter came out in fresh qualities, and her fascina-
tion, he felt, had increased many fold since her
father's death. His future was bound up in her
love, and she was the source of the joy that should
come to him. Away from her he looked forward
to empty years barren of satisfaction.
Lee's defence had already made its mark
on George. He was sternly quiet, with the sober
and determined eyes of a man with his back to
the wall. This expression deepened.
193


CHAPTER XXII
A FRIENDLY INTERVENTION
THE way instead of opening became more dif-
ficult. George was keenly alive to the danger that
success in the trial would destroy his hopes of
marrying Ruth. He drew back at first from the
alternative, then faced it resolutely, pressing it to
conclusion. The outlook was entirely clear. The
lawyer defending a man's life, like the surgeon at
an operating table, has but one duty. He re-
solved, till the trial was over, to forget himself ut-
terly, to lay aside personal hopes, to sink all
thought of Lee as a rival in duty to him as a client,
leaving to future settlement the desire nearest his
own heart. One thing and one thing only he must
remember, that Lee was a client in extremity for
whose safety nothing but the coolest skill and the
most single-minded devotion would avail. That
fact he must keep before him to the exclusion of
all others. His will-power he judged sufficient for
this end. He would forget Lee as a rival. Then,
his mind freed from all that could thwart effective-
ness, his ardour in preparing the case would not
I94


A FRIENDLY INTERVENTION
lessen, he would go on with zeal and enthu-
siasm, and the trial itself would find him at his
strongest.
The course was not to be so simple. Again
public opinion laid weighty hand upon the issues,
and he was not permitted to forget Lee as a rival.
The influence of those hostile to the defence was
still working. He remembered the efforts that
had been made, on his first entering the case, to
shake his faith in Lee, and the methods used. He
had considered it lightly, thinking it personal to
himself alone. Some of the pressure had been
well-intentioned, but mainly it had come from
public clamour skillfully roused by the district at-
torney. The attempt to prejudge the case by such
underground workings had struck counter to his
sense of fairness, but in looking beyond immediate
results, he had been confident that the feeling if
too bitter would force reaction. It might even
prove fortunate that people had gone to such ex-
tremes, and the prisoner's chances of acquittal
might not be lessened by the early tumult of re-
proach. The arguments of those opposed to Lee
had not reached George lately, and he hoped that
men were awaiting the outcome of the trial. A
chance sentence in a letter from Ruth made clear
that the arguments were still active in another
direction. “My best friends, my aunt especially,
I95


A FRIENDLY INTERVENTION
freshened him after the day in office heat and the
pitiless glare of the pavements.
Ruth's welcome rested him still more. “I
did n’t know you were coming,” she exclaimed in
happy surprise, the words striking a vibrant chord
in his soul. “You must get away from the city
oftener, this hot weather l’” Her movements had
never been so tinged with grace, her charm so
penetrating. She led him to the end of the porch
where the screens had been raised and the view
stretched away to the meadows a mile distant,
with an invigourating sense of freedom from the
congestion of town life. The cool of the night
had come over them, with nothing to be seen but
a tiny belated sail idling its way up the river once
lambent in the glories of the departing sun, now
bronzed and blackened between its tortuous
banks.
Ruth's aunt appeared with passing civilities,
but soon withdrew. George had never been con-
scious of great cordiality extending from this rel-
ative of the family to himself. In fact, the aver-
sion had been mutual. For a number of years he
had been conscious of an involuntary repulsion
toward her. Recent weeks, with the strong feel-
ing incident to Lee's arrest, had widened the gap.
When again alone with Ruth, his chair held
I97


THE UNSEEN JURY
George had always felt confidence in his ability
to interpret Ruth's moods, but her present attitude
was beyond him. He had seen her at last under
the influence of new emotion. It might not be
love, but she certainly was at the threshold. Even
this, he determined, should not prevent his shield-
ing Lee, in Ruth's regard, from the attack of
others.
“That letter made me a little uneasy,” he ven-
tured. “I mean your saying that people had tried
to influence you against Lee. You must remem-
ber your promise to me not to think him guilty
till I tell you so. Keep that promise always in
mind.”
The weeks of suffering showed in her nervous-
ness. “You have n’t a doubt of his innocence?”
“Not one. He never could have acted as he
has if he was guilty!”
“But what shall I do when people try to con-
vince me he is guilty?”
“If it’s anybody you can treat that way, refuse
to discuss the matter. Otherwise try to forget
what they say as soon as possible. I would n’t
read any of the newspapers on the case, either.”
“Do you have to go back this evening ?” she
asked in reply to some statement relative to de-
parture.
“Yes, on the midnight train. But of course I
2OO


A FRIENDLY INTERVENTION
shall not let you sit up till then. I think your
aunt was reading an hour or so ago. Perhaps
she would like to talk to me after you leave.”
Mr. Maston's brother had married late in life a
woman of angularity, both in mind and body.
Will-power in her was dominant, and morals knew
no flexity. An opinion once formed by her must
remain unshaken. Breadth of judgment and a
soul above suspicion had passed her by, while
humour and genuine sympathy had long since
left her.
“I wanted to see Ruth about Lee Davidson,”
George said when they were alone, “but more es-
pecially I wished to see you. I might have writ-
ten what I have to say, but you will understand
me better if I tell you in person.”
“Indeed !” The accent was of wonder at his
temerity. They were sitting in a large room whose
heavy, rigid furniture matched well her uncompro-
mising air. She adjusted her glasses on a thin
1noSe.
“You quite misunderstand me,” George said.
“I do not intend to talk again of the merits of the
case. All I could say to convince you that the
general public attitude toward Lee is entirely
wrong, I said long ago. All we can do now is to
wait until the trial. Perhaps something will then
come to clear the atmosphere.”
2OI


THE UN SEEN J U RY
“Are you nearer winning the case than you
were a month ago?” Her fingers in doubting in-
terrogation strayed over some magazines beside
her. “Can you see your way to a victory?”
“Not so that I can be certain, or even very con-
fident. The trial has come closer to us by so many
days and that is a blessing.”
She moved toward the table, with frowning
curiosity, and rested one hand upon it. “You
wish to talk to me about the case, you say, but
not about its merits. What else is there? I don’t
understand.”
“I refer to Ruth's connection with the case. In
a letter I received from her to-day she told me
that many of her friends, yourself included, had
been talking to her against Lee Davidson, in an
effort to convince her that she should drop him as
a friend.”
The listener's chin grew determined. “Yes?”
“I don’t think this is just the fair thing to do,
and hope you will use your influence to stop it.
It seems a little hard that so many people should
be trying to influence Ruth in this manner.”
The critical face gleamed reproof at the protest.
“Is n’t that too much for you to say to me, Mr.
Hunter P”
He flushed, but continued with equal earnest-
ness. “I hope not, sincerely. I do not mean to
2O2


A FRIENDLY INTERVENTION
intrude, but think you should be willing to let
Ruth's friendship with Lee await at least the out-
come of the trial. He is in sufficient trouble with-
out the loss of her regard.”
“I cannot see your great interest in the matter.
Of course as his counsel you wish fairness of trial
for your client, but beyond that I see no reason
for your protesting.”
“There are several reasons, I think. One is
that Lee and I are friends, and it does n’t seem
quite fair to him. Ever since Mr. Maston's death,
my desire has been to have Lee stand on his old
footing till the trial is over. This especially ap-
plies to his friendship with Ruth. They need not
be better friends, but surely it would be a pity to
let his trouble separate them entirely.”
“And what if we do not act as you wish? If
our belief in Mr. Davidson's guilt, or rather my
belief, because since his brother's death my hus-
band has been in no condition of health to come
to a definite opinion, suppose that my belief in
his guilt continues? It will of course be my solemn
duty to do my utmost to break down Ruth's
friendship for him. What would that mean, Mr.
Hunter P”
“What all the other opposition has. If you de-
cide to work against Lee I must work in his favour.
It will come to the question whether other people
- 2O3


CHAPTER XXIII
RUTH'S ASSISTANCE
THE business of Mr. Maston's estate took George
often to Woodford, giving him opportunity to test
public sentiment toward Lee, and even to mould
it somewhat in the direction he desired. Men
were not yet ready to weigh the case with all fair-
ness, but on his later visits he noticed an appre-
ciable change. In the days immediately succeed-
ing the tragedy, there had been but one mind, and
anything suggested in Lee's favour met intolerance
of argument if not actual enmity. So he adopted
the policy of saying nothing of his plans, allow-
ing his opponents the disadvantage of one-sided
discussion. His reserve during the early weeks
had begun to work for a fairer interpretation of
the facts, and a belief sprang up by degrees that
there might be two sides to the question. The
stress of opinion continued overbearingly against
Lee, but faint questionings had risen in his favour.
The seed of reticence was giving fruit.
“Why should I answer you?” George had said
to questions in the days of bitterest reproach,
“you've been telling people all over town that
Davidson is a murderer, and that I am in the case
2O5


- THE UN SEEN JURY
simply for the money to be found. Why should I
tell you the evidence I have discovered? Perhaps
there is n’t anything to help him. It’s not always
necessary to have evidence of value in defending
a murder trial. You can win cases by working
on a jury's sympathy. Hundreds of men have
been acquitted that way.”
The eyes of the importunate acquaintance
showed scepticism. “You’ll not go into the court-
room without something solid to stand on. But
the line of argument you intend following? On
what will you base your defence?”
“Perhaps one thing, perhaps many.”
The refusal to outline his case in any particular,
the indifference toward criticism, and a determina-
tion beyond influence gave dignity to the course
George followed. The sentiment of the com-
munity, though still bitter, still insisting on Lee's
conviction, was less outspoken in its blame.
George might be acting from more honourable
motives than at first had seemed possible.
An unforeseen incident cast weight in his favour.
He came to Woodford one afternoon, intending
to remain but an hour. His business completed,
he drove out to the house and to his astonishment
found Ruth awaiting him there.
“How long have you been home?” he de-
manded and hastily left the carriage.
2O6


RUTH'S ASSISTANCE
She smiled at his surprise. “You told me that
you were coming to-day, and as there are things I
want to talk to you about I’ve come too. I tele-
phoned Mrs. Oliver and she’ll be over after dinner.
You’re not working too hard, are you? And how
is Lee ? My aunt thinks I should n’t go to see
him again at present, so you must tell me.”
“You would n’t know him, he’s changing so
fast. He’s quiet and brave all the time. We can
both be proud of him l”
The interview with Ruth's aunt was strong in
his mind, and the fact that he was the only person
desiring to keep alive her belief in Lee's innocence.
So his words were earnest and the spirit behind
them persuasive.
Ruth's face softened. “Yes,” she answered,
“I am proud!”
That afternoon they drove and in the evening
were together in the old home with its memories
and dark shadows over all. The reserve that had
come to Ruth at her father's death had lifted to-
ward George, and she talked with the freedom of
the old years. He questioned her as to her new
life, and especially of the influences working
against Lee.
“Now that the trial is coming on so rapidly, it
will be harder for you. You must try not to listen
when people talk like this. You must remember
207


THE UN SEEN JURY
always that you are the greatest encouragement
Lee has. Should anybody try to persuade you
mot to write him as you have been doing, just
remember the help you have been to him al-
ready!”
She seemed for the moment taken away from
the sorrow of weeks. “I love to hear you tell me
things like that!” she murmured.
The day following was one of relaxation. In
the morning they strolled over the place, revisiting
all parts but the vicinity of the bridge, and though
the familiar sights called back memories full of
pain, there was happiness also. Whether the new
affection George thought he saw developing for
Lee had added the touch of experience to Ruth's
character, or whether the weeks of grief and un-
certain dread had given maturity to her girlish
fascination, he felt a quickening of his love, an
outpouring of his most secret being. The fact
that she was drifting away from his life, that the
rich and tender graces of her nature were for an-
other whose fate was in his keeping made his soul
yearn the more passionately. Nature is never so
beautiful as to eyes that no longer see. Health is
never so fair as in the memory of incurable disease.
The love that without hope lives on is the deepest
and most overwhelming of all.
They came to the summer-house where they had
2O8


RUTH'S ASSISTANCE
spent an hour two evenings before Mr. Maston's
death. The surroundings the same as then, but
how changed the situation. Then his love had
been ascendant. He had felt Ruth drawing nearer,
with Lee's spell broken. George remembered his
dreams of the future, with Lee the only obstacle
to his successful love removed. Now the man's
very misfortunes had been the cause of his rein-
statement in Ruth's regard. How like destiny it
seemed, the fall of his own chances and the rising
of his rival's. And the less there was of hope the
greater the torrent of love within him. He could
not surrender Ruth, but equally he could not per-
mit the success of the efforts that were making to
warp her judgment.
“You do not misunderstand what I have said
about your aunt?” he asked, when the lazy sum-
mer morning had ended and they were returning
to the house. “She means well, but I think she
reflects too closely the general prejudice against
Lee. All I have told you to-day of the way he is
changing is true. I want you to remember your
promise and take your facts about him from me
only.”
Was it fancy that at his praise of Lee, the wist-
ful, yearning love-light should return to her eyes?
The expression he had never seen so clearly in her
face. It passed in an instant, but not until it had
2O9


THE UN SEEN J U RY
been fixed on his memory forever. To have won
that glance for himself he would gladly have
changed places with Lee, with whatever addition
of danger or shame.
It was a puzzle to George why Ruth had re-
turned to Woodford. He came often to see her at
her uncle's, and she knew that a line would bring
him at any time. And it was remarkable, her
eagerness to drive with him. She had shunned
appearing in public since her father's death, but
that afternoon she drove with him for hours. She
did not guess the love that mounted within him
as the minutes sped by, nor the heartache with
which he watched her.
The scenery rolled out before them they had not
viewed since the days of happiness in the old
home. The lake, motionless in the quiet of deep-
ening afternoon, with the surrounding evergreens
of a richer beauty reflected below, the hills
with belts of sunlight climbing to their summits
to leave them a still darker green, the farm-
houses and groups of cattle along the water-
courses in the valleys, then as they neared home,
the trim lawns, the homes holding associations
from childhood, and then another view of the lake,
and the old familiar ascent. Never had they
ended a drive with such memories. The home
that had been a relief from the world was now a
2 IO


RUTH'S ASSISTANCE
suggestion of grim loneliness to them and almost
repellent. They wanted to be free of such recol-
lections and it was a relief when their train came
in the early evening.
But why had Ruth returned to Woodford for so
short a time? She had made no calls, had seen
none of her old friends save a few inconsequential
ones. And the hours spent there had not been
restful. She seemed nervously exhausted as they
journeyed back to her uncle's.
“George,” she whispered as they parted,
“you’ve done something for me, and I want to
thank you. If you had n’t talked to me so about
Lee, if you had n’t made me know that he’s in-
nocent, I’d never want to see Woodford again l”
Why had she returned ? Alone on the train, the
answer came suddenly to George. She must have
heard the charges against him for defending Lee,
with the indignation in Woodford. She had
wished to show, by driving with him in the old
way, and before she had appeared in public with
anybody else, that his place in her regard was as
firm as it had ever been.
Through the remaining miles of his journey he
gazed out the window with eyes that saw noth-
1ng.
2II


CHAPTER XXIV
PREPARATIONS FOR DEFENCE
MID-AUGUST brought the grand jury together.
George thought he had found the explanation of
Mr. Maston's death, but he had no tangible evi-
dence to offer, and his mind was still full of ques-
tionings and confusion. He knew that it would
be vain for him to attempt to influence the grand
jury in Lee's behalf, for to convince a hard-headed
body of men, it is always first necessary to have
been firmly convinced oneself. And the solution
George had reached was far from certainty.
His unsettled mind was a distinct aid when
called to testify. He told the grand jury all he
knew of Mr. Maston's habits, repeating in full the
testimony he had given at the hearing. When it
came to his theories as to Mr. Maston's death, he
parried the questions, or ignoring threats flatly re-
fused to answer.
With the evidence of such strength, but one re-
sult was possible, and a few days later an indict-
ment was returned against Lee. George went to
see him at once, but the encouragement was not
needed.
212


PRE PARATIONS FOR DEFENCE
“I knew it was coming, so am not at all sur-
prised at the indictment. You'll have to be stricter
with me from now on, I suppose ?” he smiled to
the keeper.
Ruth took the news much harder. “I know you
told me to expect it, but I had hoped some way
might be found to prevent their trying him.” Her
quietness spoke of nervous tension.
Lee's fearlessness when told of his indictment
returned to mind. “I never saw anything braver
than the way he’s carrying himself,” George said.
“He’s stronger and more of a man with every
day !”
“I’m glad to hear you say it,” something of the
expression he had seen when last in Woodford re-
turned to her face, soon to be clouded over.
“But George, people are trying all the time to make
me believe Lee guilty. Dr. Kendricks was here
only yesterday, and talked a long time about it!”
George bit his lip with anger. “He might be
talking about something else, I think, but no mat-
ter. We’ve now reached another stage of the case,
and you’ll have much influence exerted upon you
in the next few weeks, and your only way is to pre-
vent people talking to you about Lee. You’ve
promised to believe nothing against him, so it
would be well for you to see as few people as possi-
ble. The reporters will want to see you as the trial
213


THE UN SEEN J U RY
draws near, but of course you will be on your
guard. And letters of all kinds will come to you.
Some of them would be unpleasant reading, so
you’d better let me open everything that reaches
you in strange writing.”
The mere fact of being with Ruth made George
stronger and more hopeful for the task ahead.
Now that he was entering the final stage of prep-
aration for trial, his work redoubled. The dis-
couraging feature was the time thrown away on
vain searches for witnesses or the investigation of
impossible evidence. A letter promising light on
the problem would reach him, but after hours or
even days of toil and annoyance, the matter would
be dropped as without value. The newspapers,
generally teeming with theories and conjectures,
did nothing to unravel the mystery, for they re-
flected the common impression that the case
covered no mystery, that its only interesting fea-
ture was whether a defence however ingenious
could be built up to convincing power.
Of the many faint hopes pursued in the
search for evidence, one only furnished reward.
An early September morning found George in
Boston on Marlborough Street. The cool nights
following an oppressive August had freshened the
city into life, though the many shuttered houses
told of owners unwilling to accept as permanent
2I4


PRE PARATIONS FOR DEFENCE
the change that had come. He stopped in front
of a squat ivy-decorated residence with pretence
to nothing but middle-aged solidity.
“Yes,” said the sandy-haired butler, “Dr. Jaf-
fray is at home, but I fear he cannot see you, sir.
He returned from the country only yesterday, and
leaves town again this afternoon, sir.”
The precision of utterance was deeply impress-
ive, and the dignity an obstacle not easily passed,
but George would not be denied.
“Tell Dr. Jaffray that I do not wish to see
him professionally. I am a friend of the late Mr.
Maston’s of Woodford.”
The visit was a following up of the faintest hope.
George remembered once to have heard Mr.
Maston mention his calling on a Dr. Jaffray, but
without stating whether professionally or not. If
nothing could be gained by investigating the bare
clue, fortunately little time need be lost.
Presently a merry-cheeked gentleman came in,
his white hair in thick and tousled confusion, his
old eyes bright with the many twinkles they con-
cealed. “Yes, yes!” he smiled, shaking hands
briskly, “Mr. Maston used to consult me regularly
when he was in town. Yes, yes! I remember his
mentioning your name.”
George felt astonished that a specialist of this
type should be so bathed in sunshine. The neces-
215


THE UNSEEN J U RY
sity of telling people each day that they were vic-
tims to organic disease where over-exertion or
worry would be fatal seemed rather to belong to a
physician solemn of countenance and with grave
demeanour. George thought that simply to have
entered that office would give courage to a des-
ponding patient and strength to the fearful.
“I was indeed sorry to learn of Mr. Maston's
death,” Dr. Jaffray observed, seating himself ca-
paciously in his office chair, “he had been con-
sulting me from time to time, but I was unable to
do much to check the disease. My first thought
on hearing the news was that it had overcome
him. I have always expected him to die sud-
denly.”
George was still positive that natural causes
were not behind Mr. Maston's death, but an out-
burst of happiness came from the words. At last
after all his blind strivings he had discovered some-
thing tangible to place before the jury.
“Thank you for that!” he exclaimed from the
heart. “I’ve been hunting weeks for something of
the kind. An innocent man has been indicted for
Mr. Maston's murder, and I am to defend him.
Will you listen to me for five minutes?”
In quick, energetic sentences George told his
early relations with Mr. Maston, Lee's compro-
mising position before the tragedy, the facts of the
216


PRE PARATIONS FOR DEFENCE
tragedy, the events of the following weeks, and all
the evidence that he knew was in possession of the
district attorney.
“So you see,” he continued, “how I stand.
Every reason on earth would prevent my defend-
ing Davidson if I thought him guilty. And now
I’ll give you the reason that makes me certain.”
A good doctor is the best secret-keeper in the
world. George drew his chair closer. “You’re
the only man on earth ever to know this, and I tell
you because I must have help !”
The old doctor's face wrinkled with perplexity
as George talked. He rose and paced the floor.
“Can that be possible? Can that be possible?
Let methink a moment.”
He walked to the window and gazed into the
deserted street, his hands sunk deep in his pock-
ets. Absently he followed a carriage that had en-
tered the silent block. -
“If you are right, this must never come out.
It would be sad in the extreme !” He took off his
heavy-lensed glasses, rubbing them vigorously.
He twirled his watch-chain around a meditative
finger.
George went still further into his plans. He
opened his mind more freely than he had to any
other. He told certain facts about Mr. Maston,
and surmises that had followed from them.
217


THE UN SEEN J U RY
“Yes! Yes!” Dr. Jaffray nodded, “I under-
stand. You know the motive for the murder, and
you think you know the murderer, though you
have as yet been unable to find him. If you did
find him, it would be impossible to prove his guilt,
and the mere effort would reflect seriously on Mr.
Maston's character. So you want to take the case
to the jury on another theory. I think you can
make this one reasonable.”
“You see nothing weak about it?”
“It will do. Let me give you a few ideas as to
working it up.”
In half an hour Dr. Jaffray had related the de-
tails of Mr. Maston's malady, its development un-
der his notice, and the probabilities of a fatal re-
sult. He gave also other information helpful in
establishing the desired theory.
“If you rely on that defence,” he concluded
grimly, “you’ll have to work as you never worked
before. I know a lawyer in New York who about
killed himself, preparing a case in which certain
poisons were to figure.”
George made note of several books to read, and
rose to his feet with a last request.
“You have already helped me immensely, but
there is something more. The trial will come off
in November, and I want you to testify. I can of
218


PRE PARATIONS FOR DEFENCE
course compensate you for the time away from
your office. Will you come?”
Dr. Jaffray smiled at the earnestness of desire.
“If you think it will help you. I could get back
the same day, I suppose?”
They were now at the door. “One thing
further,” Dr. Jaffray pursued, “the fact that my
testimony has nothing whatever to do with your
theory of Mr. Maston's death need not discourage
you. Nothing that I have learned to-day will in-
fluence me in the slightest. Remember that my
evidence relates to what happened before the
death. Notwithstanding what you have said, I
may decide that my view of the matter is the
only sound one. It would be a comfort to believe
it.”
“Has anybody else spoken to you about the
case?” George asked nervously.
“How could they? You and I are the only
persons who know that Mr. Maston had this dis-
ease. He told me that he even concealed it from
the physicians in Woodford for fear his daughter
might hear of it.”
Dr. Jaffray held out an encouraging hand. “I
shall be away from town for some days, but after
that come in and let us talk things over again.
The district attorney will not learn of this plan for
2I9


THE UNSEEN J U RY
defence, Mr. Hunter, unless you choose to tell
him.”
Again in the street, George walked off with
hopeful stride. “That is n’t enough, but it’s by
far the best yet!” he muttered.
22O


CHAPTER XXV
THE APPROACHING CONTEST
A LAWYER in Court with his pulse high from
the fever of combat, takes pleasure in fighting
even what he believes a losing cause. Then the
fronting of a personal adversary quickens zeal,
and the chance of unlooked for fortune urges him
on. But the weeks of preparation for such a case
drag heavily. There is no excitement, nothing of
exhilaration. Another month had gone, and
George was still facing the tangled web, still won-
dering if he should ever feel confident of Lee's
acquittal.
His theory of the tragedy was this: That
years before, Mr. Maston, innocently enough, had
gone into some business that afterward proved
illegal. Too late he had found himself unable to
withdraw, for the schemers who had enticed him
were too crafty to have left egress. At first they
compelled his silence by threats of revealing his
share in their operations. Then as consciousness
of innocence grew stronger within him, he had
forcibly withdrawn, and perhaps furnished evi-
dence to convict his old associates. The surmise
was stronger from a memory George had of his
22I


THE UNSEEN JURY
boyhood, when Mr. Maston had been involved in
legal proceedings causing him endless worry. He
remembered that the actions were criminal, not
civil, and that the ground of Mr. Maston's un-
easiness was the testimony he had given against
certain men. The surmise fitted well with known
facts into the theory George was building up.
These men would have awaited an opportunity to
strike back until, perhaps on the release of some
of their number from prison, the chance had come.
Mr. Maston would have known long in advance
the nature and hour of their revenge, and this had
been at the bottom of his great apprehension, and
his dread lest Ruth should learn the trouble. For
years he had lived with a violent death hanging
over him — no wonder he had aged rapidly.
Closely related facts added to the plausibility
of the theory. Until a period five years before
his death, Mr. Maston had never shown that he
knew the meaning of fear. Then like a shot in
the night the change had come. What more
natural than that he should have received warn-
ing of impending death ! The mysteriously ab-
rupt illness that had released him weak and stag-
gering was the first in a series of events that,
though not scrutinized at the time, now demanded
closest attention.
Hard on Mr. Maston's illness had come the
222


THE APPROACHING CON TEST
periods of depression so difficult to understand.
During one of these — at a time when Mrs. Mas-
ton and Ruth were both away from Woodford –
he had been visited for a day by the low-featured
man whom Mr. Maston had introduced as Mr.
Graynor from Albany, New York. George re-
membered his sense of repulsion toward the man,
and, still more vividly, the terror in Mr. Maston's
face as the two were talking together after dinner.
The terror carried hopelessness with it and dejec-
tion as though its menace could never be defended
against. When the visitor had gone, Mr. Mas-
ton's expression had been that of a man standing
on the edge of the grave.
George asked if there was any danger, or any-
thing he could do.
“No, only keep Mrs. Maston and Ruth from
knowing that Graynor has been here. But it's
not blackmail,” Mr. Maston had been quick to
explain, “though I did give Graynor some money
before he left.”
George had striven to break through his old
friend's reserve. “Are you afraid of some mis-
fortune happening to you?”
“Yes,” had come the resolute answer, “I am.
My worst enemy has begun following me. I have
only one enemy in the world, but some day he’ll
surely overtake me.”
223


THE UN SEEN JURY
“Is it Mr. Graynor?”
44 N O.”
“Does he know your enemy?”
“Yes, but he would not tell you the name if
asked. But please forget that I ever told you I
had an enemy. You surely could never discover
him without my aid. Don't think about it any
more.”
George often chided himself that this conversa-
tion of years before had returned to his memory
so tardily. Had it occurred to him in the days
preceding Mr. Maston's death, he would have
known that worry over Ruth and Lee did not
cause the depression, he might even have done
something to avert the approaching calamity.
Instead Mr. Maston had awaited unaided the act
of violence. It was strange that this unknown
enemy had wreaked vengeance at a time to im-
peril Lee's life, but coincidences as startling are
of daily occurrence.
Some old letters George had found in Mr. Mas-
ton's desk gave strength to the theory and made
necessary the finding of Graynor. To this end he
spent a week in Albany. He examined every city
directory for ten years, and employed men to
search hotel registers for the same period. He
consulted the police, inserted guarded advertise-
ments in the papers, and talked with experienced
224


THE APPROACHING CON TEST
reporters. He sent letters of inquiry to every
boarding-house keeper, real estate agent, retail
grocer and expressman. Nowhere was there to
be found the slightest trace of the man who had
come to Woodford and on whose departure Mr.
Maston had been so terrified. Theodore Gray-
nor had vanished in the shadows of the great
human wilderness.
The close of September found George much
readier to assume Lee's defence before a jury,
chiefly in a desperation that had come to him, and
the result of the long hours spent reading medical
works. The argument that Mr. Maston had died
a natural death, backed by the authority of Dr. Jaf-
fray's name, would do much for Lee's cause. Yet
George would not let himself be blinded by false
hopes. He knew District Attorney Taylor's
ability, made doubly formidable by the strength of
the evidence gathered for the prosecution. He
felt the public condemnation of Lee which must to
some extent be mirrored in the jury box. He
fought successfully against discouragement, but
could not argue himself into a condition of con-
fidence.
Some men carry burdens and press on to diffi-
cult goals of their own strength and endurance.
George found that much of his courage that heavy
summer and autumn came from Ruth. Her
225


THE UN SEEN JURY
father's death and Lee's approaching trial showed
themselves in her character more clearly with
every day. Grief and horror lurked in her face,
but new tenderness came there. Whenever he
spoke of Lee, praising some act or word of
courage, there was a glance precious above all the
world to the man who had won it. Then George
would try to be as generous as though he had not
noticed it.
He could feel Ruth putting heart into all his
efforts. From her friendship, loyalty was never ab-
sent. The more criticism and public disfavour
came to him from his defence of Lee, the more
Ruth seemed to him. She grew fonder of his being
with her and kinder in manner with the weeks.
George treasured these hours of companionship.
He did not feel free to tell Ruth his love, and he
tried not to show it. But he resolved, by the char-
acter of his work for Lee, to satisfy himself of its
quality.
With the cares of the approaching trial upon
him, he could not see Ruth often, but he was al-
ways conscious of her sympathy. The knowledge
of her support went far with him.
226


CHAPTER XXVI
READINESS FOR BATTLE
GEORGE never cared to look back on the six
weeks preceding Lee's trial. All his other busi-
ness had now been thrown aside. He read medical
works to all hours of the night and was in frequent
consultation with Dr. Jaffray to make the theory
of illness convincing. And continually he sought
means of weakening his opponents, for with Mr.
Taylor's personality behind it he felt the weight the
government's case must carry.
It might be possible to persuade a jury that Mr.
Maston had died a natural death, but that theory
held diminishing satisfaction for George. He
came to entire belief that others had been impli-
cated. The name Graynor kept recurring, and he
peered into faces on the street in the desperate
hope of meeting this man again. He looked for
his name in newspapers on the chance of his hav-
ing been arrested for some other crime.
Whole days George spent reading old letters
preserved by Mr. Maston, and in correspondence
and personal interviews with strangers. But the
work failed to bring further clue to the menace
227


READIN ESS FOR BATTLE
ing heretofore absent. The loneliness was the
more marked because of all the men he had known
in Woodford, not one took occasion to visit
him.
The reading Lee did that summer and fall would
have left imprint on any man. He begged George
unceasingly to bring books, and went through
them with a taste surprisingly accurate. Three of
the greatest never left his table. He read “Les
Miserables” over and again, absorbing its very
spirit. “A Tale of Two Cities” took firm hold of
his heart and imagination, but mostly he talked of
the third in the group. Once he asked George if
“The Scarlet Letter’’ should not rank as the best
story ever written.
These novels of the darkest phases of life had
lasting influence upon him. Perhaps the way that
in each of them superb character comes up from
the depths of human misery and sin appealed to
him with his own nature changing so rapidly for
the better.
Lee thought and read that summer, and he
wrote letters equally valuable. George did not ask
the keeper how often Lee wrote Ruth, but he re-
ceived letters himself with great frequency. Now
it would be a suggestion as to the case, or a clip-
ping from a paper, then a word of encouragement.
Never a letter came without something to cement
229


THE UN SEEN JURY
their friendship. He always remembered his
obligation to George, and impulsively would
mention it time and again.
At no time did he show fear that George was
not doing in his service all that could be done. In
cases involving fifty dollars clients often annoy a
lawyer beyond endurance lest he prove inefficient.
Here was a man with his life in the balance who
never intimated that he wished George were
older, more experienced, or an abler man.
He went still further. Soon after the indict-
ment—in forming plans for the trial — George
had suggested that they retain some man who
had given years to the criminal law. Such assist-
ance in the court-room would have been most
valuable.
Lee would not yield to the desire. He was de-
termined and inflexible of purpose. “No, George,
you must do it all. You’re the only man who has
stood by me, and I trust everything to you. If
you can’t make the jury believe the facts, nobody
can l”
There was more truth in the opinion than might
at first appear. A jury is supposedly made up of
twelve reasoning men, but like all others these
men are filled with common, unreasoning human-
ity. If a middle-aged district attorney, with two
or three assistants, is on one side of a case, and
23O


READIN ESS FOR BATTLE
on the other a lawyer many years his junior,
standing alone, fights what seems a hopeless
battle, the younger man, if his courage is high and
his mettle buoyant, will soon find the jury warm-
ing to him. Reason and argument however
powerful can never drive sympathy from the
heart, and all the world wishes luck to the under
dog.
October with days of mellow, ripened sunshine
and nights of invigourating splendour was melting
rapidly away, with the trial looming imminent
just ahead. Public interest and excitement that
had slightly lessened through the heated term,
came back aggressively. What would the tactics
be in the Davidson trial, would District Attorney
Taylor make the case the crowning point of his
career, and what defence could possibly have been
contrived ? These were the topics of conversation
in Woodford and the towns surrounding.
With his work of preparation finished, George
felt the tension of the trial as he had never done.
Formerly it had seemed remote, a thing to be
dreaded but still a care of the future. Now with
the ordeal a week distant, he felt his responsibility
with a vividness beyond reality. The chance to
give Lee his title to innocence and Ruth the hap-
piness she desired was almost within his grasp.
Would he be strong enough to crush down his
23 I


THE UNSEEN JURY
own longing for Ruth that Lee should conquer?
The question was strong in his mind the afternoon
he drove over to see Lee through reddish-brown
woods with golden shafts playing among the
branches. Her love would not survive Lee's con-
viction. All that had preserved it thus far had
been the influence George exerted, but once a
conviction were entered, the influence of her rel-
atives and public opinion would certainly prevail.
It needed no desertion of Lee's cause. Half-
heartedness would cost the verdict. If George at
any one of a dozen critical points lost grip on the
trial by dreaming of the sacrifice he was making,
the end would be the same. A careful, painstak-
ing, intelligent defence of Lee would not suffice.
The strength that would save him must come from
the heart and soul as well. He must fight with
the courage of hope and the courage of despair.
His spirit must be the spirit behind every great
deed, a mind above thought of personal con-
sequences.
“I never saw that look on your face,” Lee said
when they met. He had been reading and was
flushed but without trace of fear. “I’m ready
too, but has n’t it been a wait? The trial can’t
come too soon l”
“You are sure there’s nothing you want? You
can’t suggest anything? Then let’s forget next
232


READIN ESS FOR BATTLE
week for an hour ! Let’s be certain for once that
we’re going to win l”
For the first time since Mr. Maston's death,
George felt and showed happiness unmixed with
care. His mood continued itself in Lee though in
lighter touches. The feeling did not leave George
through the day. He drove home just after sun-
set under a dull sky, with long shadows about him
and a penetrating chill in the wind that had arisen.
But the happiness of one who has conquered was
in his heart. The rolling hills by his side were
more sustaining and immovable, and the moun-
tains beyond a deeper blue in the haze of night-
fall. The strength that had come to him carried
confidence, and he looked forward to the trial and
was not fearful.
The time had come for employing the influence
newspapers have upon trials. Heretofore George
had been utterly reserved in talking to reporters.
Now, though still cautious, he manifested an open
spirit. He wanted their help in giving impetus to
public opinion. Though the tone of the press had
been hostile, it was not too late for a change.
Once moving in the right direction, its assistance
would be great and most opportune.
George was confident that thus far no one in
the district attorney's office remotely suspected
that a good argument for sudden illness as the
233


THE UNSEEN JURY
cause of Mr. Maston's death could be advanced.
Should the case come to trial, with Mr. Taylor
ignorant of this defence, the theory could be
sprung with more telling advantage.
To prevent men looking in one direction, the
best way is to interest them eagerly in another,
just opposite. An opportunity rose for George to
follow the method. The Woodford Weekly Argus
circulates through all the towns of the county, and
its news of the Davidson trial must certainly be
read by all. Its editor, one Jenkins, has a flock
of brothers-in-law, numbering among them a
bright, particular individual named Warner, Eze-
kiel Warner. In reporting for the Argus Warner
had gained himself a village reputation for keen-
ness. So he came to Boston one morning, found
his way to the Tremont Building, and squeaked
into the Office.
“Oh, good-morning ! Take a chair.” George
reached out to the long skinny hand.
Warner crossed his legs comfortably, rubbing his
chin with inquisitive fingers. “I suppose, Mr.
Hunter, that you’re about ready for the Davidson
matter?” The question ended in a high-throated
chuckle. “There’s lots of excitement in War-
wick County now. I was down here on other
business and thought I’d see how things look to
you.”
234


READ IN ESS FOR BATTLE
The man would prove as serviceable as another,
so George became communicative.
“The evidence has been worked up quite well,
I think. The case against us is very strong, but
we have a fair chance of winning.”
The caller's face showed hopeful curiosity. “Do
you plan to argue that Mr. Maston's death was
only an accident? Some people think you will,
others that nothing could be done with it.”
When Bismarck wished completely to baffle
astute diplomats, it is related that he would place
before them the unvarnished truth.
“No,” George answered frankly, “I have never
thought it an accident, and do not intend to base
the defence on that. The jury may consider that
if it chooses, but I shall not emphasize it.”
For half an hour he talked to his visitor on the
theory of accident, marshalling the reasons for its
unsoundness. Warner wondered a little at the
earnestness before him, then an understanding
scepticism came into his eyes. He remembered a
business engagement on Washington Street and
hurried away.
Three days later George was glad to read in the
Argus an elaborate outline of Lee's defence based
on the theory of accident.
235


CHAPTER XXVII
A NECESSARY FAREWELL
THE preparation for the case was over, and to-
morrow the struggle began. To the best of his
ability George had made himself ready for the
contest. If he had overlooked any portion of the
preliminary work, it was now too late for regret.
Some assistance would come to him by chance as
the days advanced, but in the main the battle
must stand on the tasks already accomplished.
He could do no more, so dismissed worry from
his mind and gave one day to absolute rest.
The trial called for a Tuesday late in November,
was certain of extending well into the following
month. The witnesses were in waiting, and the
excitement that always precedes a noted case ran
high. Lee still refused to permit the bringing of
other counsel into the court-room, but George
had received assistance from several of the best
lawyers he knew and hearty encouragement. He
liked best to remember old Stephen Penrose of
Penrose, Hall and Plympton of State Street, in
whose office he had once been a clerk and who
had since taken kindly interest in his progress.
236


A NECESS ARY FAREWELL
“Now don’t let it trouble you when Taylor gets
mad,” Mr. Penrose delightfully gruff of voice and
brimming over with good-nature had given friendly
caution. “That’s Taylor all over. He’d be a
big lawyer if he could hold himself in. Once he
gets mad, it costs him with a jury, and he gen-
erally does. So get the jury on your side, then
keep cool and you’ll hold them there. Whack
Taylor every chance you get. The madder you
make him, the better your chances. If you need
any help, send for us. I’ll be up for a day, any-
way.”
Monday noon, with the case to begin the next
morning in Bingham, George took the train to
spend the balance of the day with Ruth. The
feeling had come to him and returned again and
again that this was to be their last time together
in the old friendship. They would always be
friends, but the old closeness of comradeship
would be impossible once Lee were acknowledged
the nearest person in her life. And hope was
springing up that the verdict would yet swing his
way. Perhaps it was a too liberal discounting of
the district attorney's ability, a belittling of his
evidence and the stress of the popular will, but
hopefulness came to George as never since his
entering the case, hopefulness of gaining a ver-
dict. At that point his optimism ended, for in
237


THE UN SEEN JURY
success while fighting for Lee's life he could see
his own happiness ebb away.
The near-coming trial had made Ruth nervous,
but her very apprehension was an added charm.
She had never seemed so fair to George as on that
day when, concealing her anxiety, she bent every
effort to hearten him for the work ahead.
At mid-afternoon they were walking a leaf-
covered path half a mile from her uncle's residence.
A kindly winter, delaying its approach, had made
possible the lingering of autumn days, and life in
the open, at least till the sun was near the horizon,
retained its mildness and stimulating zest.
“Lee says you’ll win if anybody could. I feel
that too !” The tones of her voice were hope and
confidence and her manner the essence of en-
couragement. “It must make it so much easier,
knowing that Lee is innocent. You would n’t do
very well on the wrong side of a case.”
“Most people say I’m there now, but really
that may be a good thing for us. Once public
opinion begins to change it must move in our di-
rection.”
He did not wish to frighten her, but it would
have been wrong to let Ruth feel too great confi-
dence in Lee's acquittal. “Something may come
up at any stage of the trial to turn it in our direc-
tion,” he added hopefully.
238


THE UN SEEN J U RY
sire that came to failure, and a high ideal that
could not be realized are sad to remember, but far
from unfortunate is the man who cherishes them.
It is better to pursue some noble aim and fail com-
pletely — if complete failure be possible in such a
case — than to be the man who never quickens
the jog-trot of life and ends his days watching the
dividends pile up on his few thousands or his few
millions, and bestowing precepts of industry and
ambition on those who follow him in the long pro-
cession.
They came to the crest of the hill where the
path, dipping into a little valley, lost its way
among the rugged pines beyond. The warmth
and colour of the day had gone with the falling
sun, and already the chill of night was upon them.
Ruth shivered a little as they turned to re-
trace their steps. “George, what do lawyers
say of your chances in the trial? You’ve talked
it over with a number, of course.” She had tried
not to mention the trial again during the walk,
but the suspense was too great. She drew her
cloak more snugly about her in apprehension.
George remembered the remark of one blunt,
hard-headed man on hearing the evidence against
Lee. “You’ll win reputation fast enough out of
the case, but it will take you a hundred years to
get a verdict.”
24O


A NECESS ARY FARE WELL
So he answered Ruth: “Nobody thinks I am
sure of winning, and many say I have lost already.
The hopeful ones are expecting some unforeseen
incident to turn the case in our direction.”
They returned to the house in silence, the
gloom of a winter twilight upon them. The hope
that Ruth had sought to impart to George had
lessened her own courage and he felt the ap-
proach of the morrow, the beginning of the great
ordeal. He was stern of manner almost and pre-
occupied.
When they were alone again after dinner, Ruth's
timidity in face of the trial returned with increase,
and her solicitude.
“I wish you did n’t have to go through this, for
I know how you’ll put your strength into it. I
wish ” The soft voice stopped and she came
near. “I’d wish that somebody else were to go
through all the worry and exhaustion of the trial,
except that there’s nobody I’d rather think of as
defending Lee. I’ve never told you all it meant
to me that you should have come forward to help
him. When you have proved him innocent, you
don’t know how proud and happy I shall be l’”
But George did know that happiness. The more
he weighed the possibilities of Lee's acquittal, the
more he grasped the beauty of Ruth's love and its
firm reward to the man who received it. There
24I


A NECESS ARY FARE WELL
“Yes?” Surprise and wonder mingled in the
word.
“We had a long talk together on the stairs. It
was about Lee. You asked if it would be right
for you to marry him, and I said No, that you
must n’t think of it, that he was n’t worthy of
you!”
Ruth shrank away.
“I said he was n’t worthy of you, but promised
to tell you if he ever changed. Now I want to
tell you that he has changed, and that if I can ac-
quit him there is no reason why you should n’t
marry him some day. I know it fully.”
“George, you don’t understand, you must n’t
Please don’t say anything more.”
The unheeding voice went resolutely on. “His
character is n’t fully formed yet, but he is on rock-
bottom and is coming fast. If I acquit him, it
will be only a little while before he is worthy of
you in all ways. Uncle Tom told me in one of
our last talks that he’d be perfectly willing for
you to marry Lee if he’d only straighten up.
And now the last thing before the trial begins I
want to tell you that he has !”
Through a mist George saw Ruth change, the
eyes wistful, the hands trembling, a tenderness
from the soul over all. “George, that is sweet, it
is sweet, but you don’t, you don’t —” Her
243


THE UNSEEN JURY
arms slowly extended and she stepped toward
him.
It was more than he could stand, the tears on
her lashes, the emotion in her face, the touch of
her arms on his shoulders. He could not look
on the outburst of a love that was for another.
He dared not wait for her words.
“Good-night ! I shall think of your happiness
through all the days of the trial l”
Once more in Bingham, he walked to the hotel
under the crisp and friendly stars. The numbness
gradually left him, and he felt the strength of a
man fighting an unpopular cause without promise
of reward. He wished that he were already
standing in to-morrow's court-room.
244


CHAPTER XXVIII
THE CONTEST BEGINS
THE three weeks of the trial remained with
George a strangely mingled series of memory-
pictures. Some of the incidents were clear as
though happening yesterday, while others were
far away with dim outlines, and a few absolutely
gone from recollection.
The opening day was particularly distinct, with
Lee's calmness and dignity when brought for the
first time to meet the condemning, critical-eyed
monster that had struggled since early morning
for admission. When George drove up to the
court-house, an hour before the opening of the
session, the entrance was besieged by an insistent,
persuasive throng, with many reasons for admis-
sion long after all seats were occupied. Several
hundred curious spectators had pressed in that
morning, and as interest in the trial advanced
hundreds were turned away daily.
George watched Lee's face, wondering at its
quietness and lack of fear as he came into the
court-room and passed to his position. Then
George glanced at the district attorney who had
245


THE UNSEEN JURY
seated himself, stern, hard-featured, coldly busi-
nesslike. Mr. Taylor did not speak, and the vin-
dictiveness in his face told how thorough had been
his preparation. The public estimate of his
powers was shown by the rustle and gratified
murmur that greeted his arrival. The reporters
began to write more hurriedly and the artists bent
to their work as the accusing figure of the trial,
the dominant interest in the public eye, entered
the scene. Mr. Taylor gave no notice of the stir.
His strong, masterful face held but one thought,
knew but one purpose. The court-room, the
spectators and the great reading public that would
follow the trial did not appeal to him. Hopeful
and eager for the onset, he awaited his chance to
crush Lee. George could only think of the equa-
tion I +1=2. The district attorney held in his
hand and would present to the jury I + 1. Could
George make them say that the answer was
not 2 *
Three days slipped by while the jury was be-
ing chosen. In Warwick County the early
prejudice against Lee had not died away, and
man after man was rejected on that account.
Yet George was glad Lee had opposed his earlier
plan for demanding a change of venue. It made
for standing with the jury Lee's unwillingness to
seek trial in a less hostile county. Fortunately for
246


THE CON TEST BEGINS
the defence, of the two judges required by statute,
Judge Woolston sat as senior in the case. He was
a sorrowful man, white-headed and with sym-
pathetic voice, one from whose nature long years
of court-room life had not rubbed away the hu-
manity. Even when deciding points adversely,
there was kindliness about him and consideration.
George thought that Lee deserved sympathy
during that trial if ever man did.
No judge could have been fairer-minded to the
defence during the selection of the jury. A bare
doubt of the impartiality of a talesman rejected
him instantly, or a question as to his mental
equipment. Many of the objections George
raised sounded flimsy, but they all met liberal
treatment. An effort seemed making, induced
perhaps by the overwhelming case against Lee, to
go to the extreme limit of fairness. Not that the
jury should be good, but that it should be ex-
ceptional was the apparent desire.
George fought hard to keep from the jury any
man with prejudice, awake or sleeping, against
Lee. So wide had been the excitement roused by
the case that few men had not considered it, and
those without bias were far to seek. But there
was another man George dreaded still more. He
is the one who, making up his mind, can never
change it. Persons of this stamp pat themselves
247


THE UN SEEN J U RY
on the shoulder, ignorant of the fact that most of
the world's obstinacy comes not from strength of
character but from littleness of intelligence.
With the jury seated, George looked the men
over searchingly. Often in a murder trial there
are two or three cowards on the jury, men full of
cheap sentiment and glad of any excuse to dodge
their duty, unwilling to return a verdict of Guilty
except at the compelling of public sentiment.
These men of moral weakness are the hope of
lawyers defending capital cases.
As George peered into the grave faces, stern
already from the responsibility newly come, there
was nothing of this. He saw no false soft-hearted-
ness that would work to Lee's advantage. Rather
there was a ruggedness of character and an intel-
ligence that sees beyond severe punishment to
one a lasting benefit to the many. They were
drawn from the middle class, with the marks of
toil and a thoughtful experience of life. There
was a pleasing reasonableness about the men,
and George counted their minds open to argu-
ment.
The case fairly opened, Mr. Taylor began to put
in his evidence. His first witnesses told of Lee's
attitude for weeks before the tragedy and the
threats he had made against Mr. Maston. Im-
pulsive acts of his were brought in, and, in-
248


THE CON TEST BEG INS
cidentally, matters discreditable in his life up to
the time of his arrest. George fought to keep
from the jury every reference to Lee's former life
on the ground that the district attorney's sole pur-
pose in introducing it was to arouse prejudice.
In arguing the point, when the jury had been sent
out, Mr. Taylor claimed that he had proved al-
ready, by the defendant's threats, the malice afore-
thought necessary for the crime of murder. The
next step in the logical course was to prove that
the defendant, by character, excitable disposition
and impulses was the man to carry through this
threatened violence. The defendant's wildness
and general moral recklessness, so long as the
qualities were brought in incidentally, were as truly
facts for the jury as any threat could have been.
It was not an attempt to prejudice the jury, he
maintained, simply an effort to guide them. First,
a defendant eager to commit crime. Second, a
defendant of character and disposition easily
capable of crime. The steps were related, and
must be weighed together.
Something like a chuckle of joy sounded in the
district attorney's throat when the jury was re-
called, and the evidence given them. There had
been no obstacles to the prosecution's case thus
far, and it continued to gain momentum with the
passing of witnesses. Even at this early stage the
249


THE UNSEEN J U RY
hopelessness of a defence prevailed among the
listeners.
Lee's face changed as the testimony went on.
His head was erect through it all, but its effect
showed in his rigid posture and the lines of suf-
fering. With the preliminary evidence in — and
it could hardly have been worse for the defence—
the district attorney brought the jury to the night
of the tragedy. The housekeeper's evidence as to
the time Mr. Maston had gone for his walk was
offered, and the testimony George had given at
the hearing, to like effect. Then the man who had
seen Lee enter the place took the stand, testifying
confidently as to the hour and man.
“How do you know it was half-past ten when
you met this man, whoever he was?” George asked
when chance came for cross-examination.
The dull eyes of the witness blinked sleepily.
“Why, I looked at my watch after I got home,
an’ it was then just ten minutes of eleven. My
house’s 'bout a mile and a half from where I saw
him, so I figured the time down to about twenty
minutes earlier.”
“You live at the top of the long hill by Zenoch
Weed's, don't you?”
“Yes,” drawled the witness.
“That is the longest and steepest hill in town,
is n’t it?”
250


THE CON TEST BEGINS
“Yes.”
“And you did n’t look at your watch till you
were inside the house?”
“No, sir.”
The time of Lee's entering was thus fixed at
considerably earlier than ten-thirty, for no slow-
moving man like this witness, on a warm night
would have walked a mile and a half, much of it
up a steep hill, in twenty minutes.
“Now, about this man you thought was the de-
fendant,” George continued, “was he inside or out-
side the gate when you passed?”
“He was outside still.”
“Did you look back after you had gone
by ? 5 y
“No, sir.”
“Then you don't know whether the man actually
entered or not?”
“Well, I did n’t see him enter,” the witness had
grown cautious now, “but he was going toward
the gate, and I think he entered.”
“What was the man wearing?”
“Something rather dark—”
“That won’t do. Give particulars. What was
his hat? Straw Felt?”
“I did n’t notice.”
“Was he wearing a wing collar?”
“I don’t remember.” -
25 I


THE UNSEEN JURY
“Blue Coat?”
“I don’t remember.”
d 6 Gray ? **
“It might have been. I don’t remember.”
“Was the coat double-breasted ?”
“Did n’t notice.”
“Was it open?”
“It might have been. I don’t remember.”
“Was he wearing a four-in-hand or a cross-
tie P.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Can't you tell me anything about his clothes,
the colour of his shoes, his belt?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You’re the man who testified you could have
touched the witness that night, are n’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’S all !”
The district attorney in a few moments of re-
direct examining partly recovered the lost ground,
but something definite had been given for argu-
ment to the jury.
Next Frank Peters took the stand and testified
to having seen Lee come away from the place.
The witness's character was shady, with scant repu-
tation for truthfulness, but the evidence he now
gave was solid, and there appeared no way of
blocking it. Often, however, when a man's testi-
252


THE UN SEEN J U RY
The man hesitated.
“Had you been in Stanton's saloon?” George
demanded.
“Yes,” came the answer defiantly, “for a few
minutes.”
“And after that did you go to McTeague's?”
“For a little while. There were some men
there I wanted to see.”
“After leaving that second saloon, did you meet
any people on the way home?”
“A few.”
“How many?”
“Possibly six or eight, or there may have been
a dozen.”
“That’s all,” George said.
The facts brought out were of slight importance,
but he glanced toward the jury with as much con-
fidence as he could muster.
The man who followed Peters to the stand told
of finding Lee's handkerchief near the bridge. In
cross-examining George asked but one question.
“A good many people had been over the ground
before you reached there?”
“Yes, sir.”
The identification of Lee was complete, and the
only hope was to argue that the first witness, un-
able to give one particular of the defendant's dress
the night he thought to have met him must have
254


THE CON TEST BEGINS
been far away, his testimony, broken in one point,
thus losing effectiveness in all; and that Peters
coming from his two saloons might readily have
confused Lee with one of the others he had passed.
As to the handkerchief George thought of saying
that some other man might have dropped it, or if
it really were Lee's he might hint that an enemy,
early awake and learning of the tragedy, had taken
this means of wiping out old scores.
The hope relative to breaking the identification
sounds futile, but in a criminal case the most fool-
ish argument has possibilities. Black has never
been proven to be white, but hundreds of verdicts
have asserted it.
Though George had gained a few points, the
trial as a whole had opened badly for the defence.
The deepening solemnity through the room
showed public appreciation of Lee's peril. His
face was the only one that did not reflect the trend
of the case.
The next witness was the big sheriff who had
placed Lee under arrest. His voice was rusty and
his answers to the district attorney came thor-
oughly memorized. He related every act in ar-
resting Lee.
“That’s all I remember to it,” he concluded
with slow heaviness after Mr. Taylor's last
question.
255


THE UN SEEN J U RY
“You put the defendant under arrest at half-past
seven?” George began.
“Just as soon as I heard from —”
“Answer the question l”
“Yes.”
“Where did you find him ?”
“At his house.”
“In what room?”
“His own room. He was in bed.”
“What did he say when you entered?”
“He did n’t say nothing. He was asleep.”
The answer was sullen, and the sheriff, kept
from repeating in his first answer at whose instance
he had made the arrest, was plainly nettled. But
the fact that George himself had ordered the arrest
he had mentioned before, so it was no secret to the
jury.
“How do you know that the defendant was
asleep when you entered his room?”
“I watched him breathe for a time as I stood
over him.”
“How did the counterpane look—was it smooth ?
Did it seem that the bedclothes had been tossed
about?”
“The bed was smooth for all I could see,” said
the sheriff carelessly, not guessing the import of
his words.
George felt the weight on his shoulders lighten.
256


THE CONTEST BEGINS
Unconsciously to himself the witness had struck a
mighty blow for the defence. No highly excitable
man could have murdered another before mid-
night and be found quietly sleeping the next
morning, with no signs of restlessness.
“What did the defendant do when you awak-
ened him?” George continued.
“Told me to leave him alone and rolled over as
though he meant to go to sleep again. He was n’t
more than half awake then, and did n’t see who I
was,” said the sheriff pompously.
“Then you awakened him fully, I presume?
What was the first thing he said?”
“He rubbed his eyes and asked what I wanted.”
“Was that all he said at first P”
“Yes.”
“Was he frightened or excited, or nervous?”
“No, he looked perplexed as though not under-
standing. I thought it was put on and —”
“STOP 1” George took two angry steps toward
the burly, heavy-faced sheriff. “I don’t care what
you thought. Answer my questions. What did
the defendant do next?”
“It looked as if he 5 *
“STOP 1” George brought the sheriff up with
a more sudden abruptness. He watched him a
moment, then turned away.
“May it please the Court: This witness, accord-
257


THE UNSEEN J U RY
*
ing to his testimony, has worked months assisting
the prosecution. He is now giving evidence of
vital importance to the defendant. Yet he seeks
to belittle its whole effect. I submit that this is
flagrant injustice by an officer appearing for the
prosecution.”
Judge Woolston's white head bent forward
slowly. “The witness should confine himself
strictly to the questions that are asked, and should
not advance any opinions or ideas of his own.”
Nothing could have been milder than the tone
and words of the reproof, but the sheriff's red face
went still redder. George waited till the man's em-
barrassment should have full effect upon the jury.
“What did the defendant do when you told him
he was under arrest?”
“Asked what for, and I told him.”
“What did he say then?”
“He started to —”
“Keep to the question. What did he say?”
“Made me repeat the reason for his arrest. He
asked it twice.”
“After that what did he do?”
The sheriff's face could not have become more
effulgent, but his embarrassment increased. He
hesitated and shifted uneasily.
“What did the defendant do?” George re-
peated.
258


THE CON TEST BEGINS
“He jumped out of bed, swore at me and called
me a liar. Then he calmed right down, and
didn’t give me any trouble !”
“Now, Sheriff,” George came near after a min-
ute's reflection, “I have one more question to
ask you, and in answering this, you will say ‘Yes’
or ‘No, and nothing more. Remember, now,”
his voice became stern again. “One word is all I
want! You have testified of the morning you
went to the defendant's home to arrest him. You
say that you awoke him from a sound sleep, and
that you noticed no signs of restlessness. Now,
after he was awake that morning, did he say any-
thing to you admitting guilt, or did he do anything
you construed an admission of guilt? Answer in
one word.”
The district attorney sprang to his feet with de-
termined and voluble objection. There was no
sound till Judge Woolston bent his head for the
answer to come in.
“No,” said the sheriff reluctantly.
“That’s all.” George exulted deep in his heart
that at last he had begun to make headway, slight
though it were, against the tide that had been
sweeping them back.
259


CHAPTER XXIX
THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY RESTS
As the trial advanced it was indeed easy for
George to mark his errors of judgment, to pick
out the opportunities for scoring points that he
had permitted to slip by. Once he could have
profited by ignoring the testimony of a witness,
treating it as of no moment. At another time, he
should have followed a witness more closely,
making the cross-examination rigid and without
pause. He had used too great pressure here, too
little there. He should have entered a few more
objections to the prosecution's questions. He had
been alert throughout, he might at times however
have been more insistent. But in thinking of his
mistakes, now that they were gone beyond recall,
it comforted George to remember that the district
attorney had made two completely overtopping
them.
One was his savage attitude during the trial.
This was a grave blunder. It is well to think of
Justice quiet, calm-eyed, unmoved as the scale
goes up or down, but no one likes to think of her
going about with a bludgeon to effect her ends.
26O


THE UNSEEN JURY
unruffled voice was the most effective answer that
could have been given. The jury showed it.
The district attorney's second error — and this
equalled the first—was in calling his last witness.
The prosecution's case thus far had been presented
strongly, and though by cross-examination George
had gleaned from every witness something of
value, the chain welded by the district attorney
was practically intact.
The medical part of the testimony had been
rather weak. The physicians in testifying as to
the time of death did little but reiterate earlier
statements. George shook their testimony in a
measure by forcing the admission that the rigor
mortis is by no means precise evidence as to the
time of death. Yet they adhered to the belief
that eight hours before discovery of the body was
the correct estimate.
One statement of the second doctor called by
the district attorney was a manifest aid to Lee.
He had been testifying as to the cause of death,
and had narrated at gruesome length the examina-
tion made by the physicians.
“You concluded then that the cause of death
was a blow on the temple that brought uncon-
sciousness, and was itself followed by drown-
ing?”
66 Yes.”
262


THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY RESTS
“You do not know what kind of a blow it was P”
George queried.
“I do not know. It is merely an opinion with me.”
“Might a man falling to the floor of the bridge
give himself such a blow P”
“Decidedly not. The impetus would not be
sufficient.”
“Imagine another type of accident. Suppose a
man falling from the bridge a dozen feet to the
water. He struck on a projecting rock. Would
the impetus then be sufficient?”
“Without doubt.”
“Was the blow sufficient of itself to have caused
death P”
“Perhaps so. My mind is not absolutely set-
tled on that point.”
“Could the man have been dead before reach-
ing the water?”
“I think so. The evidence as to drowning was
inconclusive. My opinion has always been that
the man died from drowning, probably hastened
by unconsciousness from the blow.”
“Did you seek other causes of death?”
“No,” said the doctor, “having found what we
considered the undoubted cause of death, we went
no further.”
“That is the only theory you have to advance
as to the cause of death?”
263


THE UN SEEN J U RY
“That is all.”
The absolute certainty in the public mind at
the time of Lee's arrest had indeed proved for-
tunate. Otherwise these doctors would have been
more searching. Yet the government's case
as a whole was sound and well put together.
There were slight flaws, weaknesses open to spir-
ited attack, but the district attorney had gone far
enough. He should have rested, satisfied with
the work he had done. Instead he took another
step; he called Ruth to the stand.
Sometimes in a crowded street, toward dusk,
with vice and greed and misery jostling about
him, one hears the mellow chimes float out from
a belfry in the clearness and purity far above.
That was George Hunter's feeling when Ruth
entered the hot breath of the court-room.
He had not seen her since the evening before
the trial began. He had written her every day,
but in a battle with so much at issue he had not
trusted himself with the emotions a visit to her
would have awakened. He could best remain
master of himself by holding aloof from all that
would appeal to his love. He dared not jeopard-
ize his duty to Lee by calling upon her. So he
had taken a long walk every evening, then gone
to the hotel.
At the call of her name, he gripped his chair
264


THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY RESTS
and did not at once turn. A quick tension ran
through the room as Ruth came down the aisle,
passed in front of the jury and took the stand.
Every head bent forward, curiosity and sympathy
equally alive in watching her.
Delicacy and refinement were never more
present than when Ruth turned her white face to
the throng. Judge Woolston bowed in courteous
salutation, and motioned a court officer for a chair.
Ruth declined it. The clerk repeated the oath, and
then for the first time she glanced toward the dis-
trict attorney. She looked beyond him, for an
instant. There was no recognition in the dark
eyes, but George filled out her thought. With-
out sign or gesture to guide him he felt that her
affection was pouring itself out to Lee as he sat
alone in his little enclosure.
Mr. Taylor paced back and forth, his large
hands plunged thoughtfully into his pockets. He
consulted some memoranda.
“You are Miss Maston ?”
Ruth started at the timbre of the voice, modu-
lated though it was from its usual gruffness.
“Yes,” came the timid response.
“It was your father, was it not, for causing
whose death this defendant is now being tried?”
66 Yes.”
“A few preliminary questions,” the district at-
265


THE UNSEEN JURY
torney continued briskly; “you have known this
defendant for a number of years?”
“Yes.”
“Up to the time of your father's death you saw
the defendant frequently P”
“Yes, nearly every day.”
“Until then you had been a very good friend
of his P”
Ruth straightened a little. “Yes,” she said,
“and I am still.”
A murmur swept through the crowd. Mr.
Taylor's forehead contracted and he angrily bit
his lip. He started to speak, but waited a
mOment.
“You were aware, were you not,” the question-
ing voice was sternly insistent now, “that shortly
prior to your father's death, this defendant quar-
relled with him P”
“Yes.” Ruth's lips moved to form the word
but nobody heard it. Instant fright showed in
her face.
“What was the reason for that quarrel ?” the
rasping voice went bluntly on.
“Mr. Davidson was trying to get my father's
consent.”
“TO what ?”
Ruth's face became whiter. “To my marrying
him,” she answered but without lowering her eyes.
266


THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY RESTS
“To return to the quarrels. You knew that
the defendant had had trouble with your father?”
“Yes.”
“Did he ever tell you his intentions?”
“I do not quite understand.”
“I mean did he ever tell you
tion was cruel and slow.
“I object!” George was on his feet in the
first indignation he had shown.
“The question has n’t been asked yet,” sneered
Mr. Taylor.
“I object to it before it is asked, then. It is ir-
relevant and insulting both.”
Those who had thought the younger lawyer's
courtesy and moderate tones a cloak for diffidence
sat bolt upright. His contempt struck deep and
his anger though without noise was more impress-
ive than any temper the district attorney had
shown. “The defendant,” George said quietly
but in words vibrant with passion, “the de-
fendant asks no consideration from the senior at-
torney for the state. His counsel enters no plea
for professional courtesy. But for this witness a
line must be drawn that no man shall step over.”
“I do not think ” the district attorney be-
gan hotly.
“Pardon me,” George broke in, “I am not ap-
pealing to you.”
yy
The ques-
267


THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY RESTS
Then the district attorney saw that he had gone
too far for his own interests.
“That’s all!” he motioned brusquely for the
cross-examination to begin.
“I have no questions,” George said.
The entire case for the prosecution had been
given to the jury.


THE ADVANCE
Once when the family was in Europe I was in
charge three months.” The pride of long fidelity
was in the man’s bearing.
“In the few weeks preceding his death did you
notice anything peculiar about Mr. Maston's
health? Did he seem ill —”
“I object l” the district attorney broke in, “the
witness is not competent. He is not a physi-
cian l”
“Mr. Maston kept horses?” George resumed
after reflection.
“Always several.”
“He rode P”
“He was very fond of horseback riding.”
“What was the most valuable horse he
owned?”
“Black Peter, a saddle horse he had owned for
six months.”
“The first four months, how often did he ride
this horse?”
“During the winter, every clear, sunny day.
As spring came on, every day.”
“The fifth month, how often did he ride?”
“Very seldom. Perhaps once or twice a week.”
“The month preceding his death, how often did
Mr. Maston ride?”
“None at all, sir. The horse was not taken out
of the stables except for exercise.”
271


THE UN SEEN JURY
“To come to the morning of Mr. Maston's death.
What is the first thing you remember?”
“The housekeeper called me.”
“What did you do?”
“I came to the house.”
“What then P”
“I went to the bridge.”
“Were you surprised at anything there?”
“Yes, sir. There was a gray cap that had be-
longed to Mr. Maston lying on the seat.”
“Anything else?”
“On the rail at the open side of the bridge was
a cigar.”
“Did you notice anything particular about the
rail?”
“It was very loose.”
“What makes you think so?”
“The rail shook as I walked on the bridge.”
“How loose was the rail?”
“If I had touched it with my hand the cigar
would have fallen off.”
“What did you do then?”
“I walked down the brook.”
“What was the condition of the ground either
side the brook?”
“It was muddy, sir. Several inches of mud.
In some places a foot.”
272


THE UNSEEN JURY
of gloom awed him, almost into terror. Yet he
told a straightforward story, whose effect could be
seen in the bronzed old foreman of the jury's in-
tentness as he leaned forward to catch the low
words.
“Then you saw two men waiting in the woods
not far from the bridge the afternoon before Mr.
Maston's death?” George repeated as he neared
the end of his questions.
“I saw them there.”
“Did you walk near them?”
“Yes, but they moved away from me. Then I
was scared and ran home.”
“How do you remember what afternoon it
was ?” Mr. Taylor demanded, on cross-examina-
tion.
The boy jumped at the gruffness of the voice.
“I—I remember. I remember,” he repeated in a
small frightened whisper.
The district attorney approached with stern
finger. “But how do you remember? You had
played there many other days, had you not? It
might have been a week earlier you saw the men,
might it not? How do you remember just what
day it was last summer you played in the woods
and saw the men P”
“I remember, I remember,” the boy persisted.
66 How P 95
274


THE ADVANCE
The boy drew back in alarm. “I wanted to go
there the next day ’n’ my mother would n’t let me.
She said something awful had been found in the
brook.”
Another witness testified to having seen the
two men, but had thought them tramps. George
did not attempt at this time to show the connec-
tion of this evidence with the testimony of the
coachman, but he had a strong point awaiting
final argument.
A number of minor witnesses followed, some in
refutation of the district attorney's evidence, some
adding strength to the testimony of earlier wit-
nesses for the defendant. When it seemed that
the evidence might all be in, George suddenly in-
troduced his main defence.
The lagging curiosity of the spectators came
back with a bound as a scholarly old gentleman
walked to the stand. Who could this dis-
tinguished stranger be, with the deep thoughtful
eyes and the complete self-possession? And what
his connection with the case?
“Your name?” said the clerk.
“Melvin F. Jaffray.”
As soon as the witness had been sworn, George
rose eagerly.
“You are a physician?”
66 Yes.”
275


THE UNSEEN J U RY
on to explain, “and the danger is that the coats
of the arteries may become in a measure hard-
ened, often, in fact, with deposits of calcareous
matter. This causes what is known professionally
as Arterio-Schlorosis. Under such conditions
death may come instantly from Angina Pectoris.”
“Can there be any doubt in your own mind as
to the correctness of your diagnosis?”
“None whatever. The symptoms are readily
known, and as the pain of Angina Pectoris is con-
sidered the most agonizing to which human beings
are subject, the disease is not at all difficult to rec-
ognize.”
“Acting on this diagnosis, what did you pre-
scribe for Mr. Maston ?”
“Absolute rest, and avoidance of active mus-
cular exercise. Mental excitement tends to bring
on attacks, so I warned him to shun that as well.
So far as possible I tried to keep his general health
good.”
“What medicines, if any, did you advise?”
“The treatment mainly consists in the use of
Glonoin—which is Nitro-Glycerine—the most pow-
erful heart stimulant known. This I directed Mr.
Maston to take in 1-1oo grain doses, repeating
every half hour if necessary.”
“What are the effects of this stimulant on a
patient suffering from Angina Pectoris?”
278


THE ADVANCE
“Sharp frontal headaches, lasting only a few
moments or until the patient's face, which as at-
tacks come on is always of a death-like pallor,
ghastly almost, becomes flushed, and the pulse
which is always weak and thready and often inter-
mittent, becomes full and bounding in character.”
Much more Dr. Jaffray said. Then George asked
a question that he knew would not be admitted,
but with intent of concentrating the jury's thought
on another to follow.
“Do you think that Mr. Maston died of Angina
Aector's 2”
The district attorney jumped to his feet in suc-
cessful protest.
“Very well, then, Dr. Jaffray,” George re-
marked, “let me give you a supposititious case.
We will suppose a man between fifty and sixty
years of age, nearing sixty in fact, who came to
you for treatment. You found his symptoms and
general conditions of health precisely what Mr.
Maston's were when you first saw him. You
treated this man for months, seeing him in fre-
quent consultation, precisely as you treated and
saw Mr. Maston. One morning you learned that
this man was dead and that he had died suddenly.
Without further facts to guide you, would you
have come to any opinion as to the cause of
death?”
279


CHAPTER XXXI
A VOLUNTEER WITNESS
A NUMBER of heavy shocks had come to George
during his life, and at times he had been badly
frightened, but nothing ever struck such terror into
his heart as came from a turn in the case just after
Dr. Jaffray had left the stand.
Somebody passed forward a slip of paper from
Lee. “Come back a moment,” it read.
George leaned over the enclosure. “We’ve
done all that can be done with the evidence,” he
whispered wearily, for the strain of the trial was
telling upon him. “I shall ask for an adjourn-
ment now, and after that will come the sum-
ming-up.”
Lee rose slightly from his seat. “Don’t do it
yet. Let me testify l”
George jumped as one might if a gun were un-
expectedly pointed in his face, and pushed Lee
back with trembling arms.
“NO!” he whispered so hoarsely that all could
hear, “sit down, sit down and don’t think of that
for a second l”
The determination in Lee's face grew. “But I
28I


THE UN SEEN J U RY
want to testify Let me do it! You must let
me!” he pleaded.
It was this that an effort of six months had been
made to prevent. The peril of such a course un-
der the circumstances was extreme, and even the
thought was agitating. To convince Lee of his
utter folly, however, would have been difficult in
court, so George turned nervously and asked Judge
Woolston to grant a ten minute recess. The
officers led Lee into an ante-room.
“See here !” George exclaimed sternly, the in-
stant they were beyond hearing, “Who’s running
this? It's suicide for you to take the stand 1 The
defendant does n’t have to testify in criminal cases,
and Judge Woolston will charge the jury to draw
no presumption against you because you don’t.
The jury already knows that I prevented your
making any statement last summer, so they won’t
hold it to you. And another reason. The district
attorney there hated your father. He hates you
on that account, and he hates me for defending
you. He's the hardest cross-examiner in the
state for a man to face. The happiest moment in
his life would be the time he began to question
you. You go on that stand and give one look of
guilt, or be unable or afraid to answer a single
question and you’re done for ! After that no law-
yer living could talk the jury into ‘Not guilty.’”
282


A VOLUNTEER WITNESS
district attorney gets his grip on you. Don't lose
your nerve, and no matter what questions I ask
you to-day or he does to-morrow, answer right
out. And remember that Ruth is waiting for you
if you pull through l Are you ready ?”
Lee's lips tightened. “Come on l” he said.
Reputation is alike the hardest and the easiest
thing in the world to win. The newspapers the
next morning did a deal of talking about the con-
summate strategy George had shown in keeping
his last witness under cover, only to spring him
on the district attorney and jury at the most tell-
ing moment. He must have foreseen, months in
advance, they said, the effect of such a climax,
and to this end had prevented Davidson's making
an earlier statement, while carefully preparing him
for the final test. Nobody who knew the de-
fendant, the papers said, and the evidence against
him, would suppose that any lawyer would dare
put him on the stand in his own defence. Nor
had the jury expected to hear Lee's voice, and so
the effect of his testifying was tremendous. The
excitement in the court-room when the intention
became clear reached the highest point of the trial
thus far. And what a master-stroke of genius it
was — the papers continued — Mr. Hunter's mak-
ing the defendant, as though of his own will and
under the mighty power of innocence, force his
285


THE UNSEEN JURY
“For the first time in his life he spoke sternly
to me, not bitterly, but sternly.”
“After leaving Mr. Maston what did you do?”
“I went home and gradually cooled down. I
thought over what I had said and began to be
ashamed of myself. I felt that I had treated Mr.
Maston shabbily. I wanted to do something but
could n’t decide. In the early evening I caught a
glimpse of Miss Maston walking on the terrace.
That brought me to a sudden resolve.”
“To do what?”
A barely audible murmur swept through the
court-room. Men's eyes riveted on the central
figure of the drama so rapidly working itself out
before them took new suspense.
“I decided to go to Mr. Maston and apologize
for the way I had treated him.”
“And you did go?”
“Yes, at about eleven o'clock that same evening.”
With the words spoken quietly and without fear,
many people thought that the prisoner had thrown
his life away.
“Now, Mr. Davidson,” George proceeded, “I
want you to tell the jury everything that happened
that evening, after your leaving home and until
your return. Give this without waiting for ques-
tions, unless I stop you.”
“I knew that Mr. Maston walked at night so I
288


THE UNSEEN JURY
“Yes.”
“You had been asleep all night?”
“I don’t remember waking once.”
“When the sheriff awoke you, did you know
his reason for coming?”
“I did not l’’
“When he told you that you were under arrest,
did you have any suspicion of the reason ?”
“I did not l”
“Until he told you, did you have any knowl-
edge, or the slightest or vaguest idea that harm of
any nature had befallen Mr. Maston?”
“I did not l” Lee's voice was calm and ab-
solute sincerity spoke from his face if ever from
any man's.
Here adjournment was taken for the night, and
on court assembling again in the morning George
asked a few more questions to freshen Lee's tes-
timony.
Then he turned to the district attorney. The
crucial point of the trial had come. “Take the
witness!” he said slowly.


CHAPTER XXXII
A DETERMINED ASSAULT
WHEN Macbeth comes in red-handed from the
murder of Duncan, with the fires of vengeful im-
agination already blazing in his darkened soul, to
find his wife in the quietness of night hopefully
expecting the result of his black errand, the scene
for dramatic intensity is probably unrivalled in all
literature.
And yet in real life there are sights more im-
pressive. As George awaited the cross-examina-
tion to begin, he fancied Lee on the extreme edge
of an abyss, with another man, of thick-set and
aggressive energy, preparing to push him over.
Fascinated he watched resolve breathe into the
district attorney's manner.
Mr. Taylor paced slowly up and down, his
swarthy face darker, his chin hard and unrelent-
ing. Abruptly he faced Lee.
“Have you ever done one day's honest work in
your life?” The voice jarred through the silent
COurt-room.
“Not that I remember,” Lee answered.
29I


THE UN SEEN J U RY
“Do you think that this world is any the better
for your having lived in it twenty-five years?”
“It is a great deal worse I am sure !”
The frankness of avowal rather took the district
attorney aback.
“You admit, do you,” he continued, emphasiz-
ing the questions with a thick fore-finger, “you
admit that you made threats against Mr. Maston
in the weeks just preceding his death?”
“Yes.”
“That you came to see him the afternoon be-
fore his death ?”
“Yes.”
“That you tried to quarrel with him, that you
threatened him then P”
“Yes.”
“That you returned again that same evening to
See him P”
“Yes.”
“That you did not go to the house, but waited
outside?”
64 YeS.”
“That you joined Mr. Maston when he came
out for his evening walk?”
“Yes.”
“That you accompanied him to the bridge?”
& 4 YeS.”
“That you were with Mr. Maston on the bridge
292


THE UNSEEN JURY
his room that he might be fully rested for the
supreme day of the struggle. He took out a
letter received from Ruth that morning and read
it again and again. She had come nearer to his
heart as the hours of the trial grew fewer, and her
encouragement in this letter was warm and sus-
taining. He held the letter in his hand with a
thought for the hopes that had left him, then put
it back into his pocket to be carried with him into
the last day of the trial.
His hand struck another letter that had come in
the morning's mail, but had not yet been opened.
It was a brief note from Mr. Maston's brother, con-
taining good wishes for the closing hours of the
trial. Mr. Maston's relatives who had been most
bitter toward George in the early stages of Lee's
defence had changed in attitude, and the tone of
this epistle was in all respects kindly.
There was a postscript. “The day before my
brother's death, he came to see me, and left a let-
ter to be delivered to you should I outlive him. I
judged from his manner that the matter was not
important, so put the letter into a pigeon-hole, and
in the following excitement forgot all about it. I
ran across it only to-day.”
His name in Mr. Maston's well-remembered
hand on the enclosed envelope brought George a
lump in the throat, and he seated himself in a big
296


A DETERM IN ED A SSAU LT
chair to learn the message his old friend had left,
with its strange direction for delivery.
Ten o’clock struck, and eleven, and twelve, and
one, and he was still sitting in the chair.
297


THE UN SEEN J U RY
Nature itself seemed strengthening him for
the task. The far-stretching silence entered his
blood, giving calm and hope and self-reliance.
The hour was soundless and the only movement
indolent, drifting smoke-circles over a farmhouse
in the distance.
All was changed when he reached the village.
The town was alive to the most interesting day of
the trial. As he entered the main street, ready
and eager for the task confronting him, people
recognized him with wonder at his early mission
out of doors. The lobby of the hotel was
thronged, many trying to speak to him as he
hastened through.
A burden of anxiety greater than George had
ever known rested on his shoulders at the open-
ing of court. This was the end of the toil and
planning that had absorbed his strength for months.
Now was the time to spend himself to the ut-
most, to bring to the cause more ability than he
had shown at any other time, to put into it the
last particle of nervous energy. Memories of Mr.
Maston dwelt in his mind as he entered the court-
house, instances of kindness and affection, the dark-
ness of the closing days of his old friend's life,
with the thought that to-day the debt of gratitude
to his memory must be paid in a service that had
lain beyond imagination. Lee's fate was in the
3OO


THE FINAL EFFORT
make, but the realization brought joy, not timidity.
He exulted that nothing but the supreme attempt
of his life would answer. With his last chance
come for influencing the twelve men in Lee's be-
half, two facts abode in his mind, the mountain-
ous nature of the undertaking, and an iron de-
termination not to resume his seat till he knew
that the jury had pledged itself to Lee's acquittal.
When a man rises to make a speech, the ques-
tion of questions should be, not “How great is
that man’s intelligence?” nor, “What skill has he
in stringing words together?” but first and always
“Is the man sincere?” Great oratory has never
been built on insincerity. A breath of it even, in
delivery, may kill for discerning people the effect
of the finest speech ever written.
George tried to say nothing to the jury that
morning he did not believe, and to gain further
credence he sought to be plain and utterly direct
throughout. The choice of method was wise, for
a statement made quietly and without excitement
is more likely to be believed than one hurled at top
voice, with furious gestures.
For another reason George sought simplicity of
appeal. He remembered what was to happen that
afternoon, the man who would answer him. Dis-
trict Attorney Taylor was force personified, his
arguments tending to crush an adversary by sheer
3O3


THE UNSEEN JURY
the morning of his death, the horror in men's faces,
the voiceless grief settling over the town. At first
the communal loss had not been uppermost, every
man's thought being on his own loss of a personal
friend. Even the air seemed heavy that morning
with its burden of gloom. So dense the sorrow,
George said, so unnatural the appearance of men,
so charged the very atmosphere with grief, that
the supreme tribute to William the Silent might
almost be applied to Mr. Maston — that when he
died the little children cried in the streets.
The picture of Mr. Maston faded from mind, and
George turned to another man, to District Attorney
Taylor sitting so quietly behind him. He knew
the soul of the man, his bitterness at the opposi-
tion that had met him in the case, his thirst to re-
ply to the arguments of the defence, the ease with
which he would crush any flimsy explanations.
So in reviewing the evidence George tried to ad-
vance nothing that would not stand the pressure.
No man, he said, went further than he in regret
at Mr. Maston's death, none held his memory in
deeper affection and respect. Yet the dead man’s
nobility had no bearing on the jury's duty. Their
decision must be reached without emotion. The
most wretched vagrant on the streets had equal
right with Mr. Maston to freedom from violence.
If murder had been done, one course only was
306


THE FINAL EFFORT
open to the jury. But if murder had not been
done, Mr. Maston s character, his position in the
community, his years of public service, demanded
that an innocent man should not suffer for his
death.
As to the evidence the district attorney had so
carefully amassed, George claimed that the greater
part was unnecessary for it consisted of facts freely
admitted by the defence. The defendant had been
on the bridge at eleven o’clock, and Mr. Maston
had been found dead at seven the next morning.
Those were the facts. Everything else against his
client he declared to be surmise, inference, blind
conjecture, of such character that nothing but an
elastic imagination could hold the prosecution’s
case together.
For instance, take the medical witnesses and
their statements in direct and cross-examination
relative to the rigor mortis. This, George recalled
to the jury, generally begins the third hour after
death, continuing till the twelfth. But the estimate
refers to the case of a person who had been in nor-
mal health. If the individual had been in poor
health, for example a man in an advanced stage
of heart disease with lessened vitality, the rigor
mortis would have been more pronounced, thus
furnishing the same indications in shorter time.
As to the claim that death had occurred eight
307


THE UNSEEN J U RY
hours prior to discovery of the body, he said that
testimony on this point must further be disregarded
because of the fact, which the doctors had over-
looked, that the body had been found not on land
but in the water. In summer the temperature of
a body, by which with the rigor mortis the time
of death is mainly determined, will drop more rap-
idly in water than in the open air. He requoted
an eminent authority, already in evidence, to the
effect that no pathologist, with a man’s life at
stake, would dare swear, within two or three hours,
at what time a death had occurred under such cir-
CumStanceS.
It was clear that Mr. Maston had died during
that night, some time earlier than four o'clock.
And that, George argued, was all that could con-
fidently be said of the hour.
It is not necessary for the defendant to produce
a single fact. He can win by the insufficiency of
the prosecution's case. George asked the jury to
consider whether all the evidence put forward by
the district attorney, in the light of the defendant's
conduct since the tragedy, would justify them in
returning a verdict of Guilty irrespective of the
facts introduced by the defence.
In turning to his own evidence, George said
that it was the district attorney's duty, not his, to
show the cause of Mr. Maston's death, but even so
308


THE FINAL EFFORT
third, that he had died of heart failure while sit-
ting upon the rail or leaning over it—George
argued that the first was impossible of acceptance,
and the third the strongest by far. Heart failure
seemed sounder and more plausible than any
theory that had been advanced. Even a slight
attack of the malady, not fatal in another situa-
tion, might have caused the fall from the bridge.
Nor need this occurrence have jarred the cigar.
Mr. Maston naturally would have been sitting on
the firmer of the two rails, or at their junction.
There would have been no violent trembling of
the bridge by his fall.
Should the jury fail to accept either the theory
of homicide or that of sudden illness, there was
left another explanation, death by simple accident.
What more natural than that Mr. Maston, sitting
on the rail of the bridge as a witness testified to
have been his wont, had lost grip on the upright
and fallen headlong to his death ?
George then left the district attorney and came
to Lee. He recalled Mr. Taylor's efforts through-
out the trial to paint in disreputable colours the
defendant's former life, to make him a character
nobody could respect, then asked the jury to look
at the man before them. Every argument based
on his passionate, excitable nature fell to the
ground, or became a weapon in the hands of the
3II


THE UN SEEN JURY
most affected. For the last moments the jury and
George were one.
In conclusion George said that nothing could
take away or lessen the jury's reponsibility. Some
juries, an ear to the ground, might from cowardice
give an unjust verdict. This jury would not.
They were not thinking of the public clamour
that had raged for months. They were not think-
ing of the newspapers, nor of their friends and ac-
quaintances. Their mind was on the evidence
before them. A man of the noblest life and influ-
ence had died, and for his death another was on
trial. The State of Massachusetts through its ap-
pointed officer, said, “You killed this man!” And
the defendant, practically alone, rose and said, “I
did not!” The verdict at the end must rest on
an argument that counsel for the defence could
not strengthen, nor counsel for the prosecution
break down, the defendant's present character.
If he were now strong where formerly he had been
weak, if he now stood fronting the world as one
in the full consciousness of integrity, the question
was whether innocence had worked the change.
The jury's duty, George added, was momentous,
bringing with it the most solemn care. But it
brought also a God-given opportunity.
Then he sat down.
3I4


THE UNSEEN JURY
had been found dead one morning, and that every-
body, through the whole township, his present
counsel included, had pointed to the defendant as
the murderer. At that hour, no mind held doubt
of the prisoner's guilt. Had anything risen since
then to cause question ? Various theories were
afloat, ingeniously developed and interesting to a
degree, but after all which one of them, viewed de-
liberately and without excitement, would explain
the tragedy? Accident? Never / A child might
have fallen from the bridge, an intoxicated man or
one ready to drop from exhaustion. Mr. Maston
was none of these. The theory that two men had
murdered the deceased was equally without weight.
Where had these men come from ? What was
their motive? How had they learned Mr. Mas-
ton's habit of going to the bridge at night alone?
Where were they now * The explanation like the
men had vanished into thin air.
One theory, and only one theory, merited ex-
tended answer. It should be remembered, Mr.
Taylor continued, that the prosecution has been un-
able to present expert testimony combatting the
evidence of the defence, for the argument had
come without warning. But was there need of
such testimony? “We admit,” he said, “that Dr.
Jaffray is a man of character and of high standing
in his profession. We will overlook, for the mo-
316


| THE VERDICT
ment, the element of mistake, and assume the cor-
rectness of everything he testified. Medical men
make mistakes of diagnosis continually, but we will
assume, for the moment, that Mr. Maston actually
had heart disease and in advanced form. Where
does that bring us? Do we find an explanation
that will really satisfy What are the chances
that a fatal attack of the malady would occur at a
given moment? For example: A man with heart
disease asleep on a railroad track with a limited
express coming toward him a hundred yards away.
Undoubtedly, that man may die of Angina Pec-
toris. What are the chances Again, a man with
heart disease in a row-boat in the rapids above
Niagara. Here, also, the man may die of Angina
Pectoris. What are the chances? So, too, with
Mr. Maston. He may have had Angina Pectoris.
The defendant may have left him peaceably, as
counsel would have you believe, and then, before
he could take up his half-smoked cigar, fatal ill-
ness may have struck him. Does it seem prob-
able P”
Mr. Taylor drew his three hours' speech to a close
with an attack on Lee's character, stating that his
earlier disposition still remained, and that the ap-
pearance of innocence was nothing but clever act-
ing to blind the jury and thwart justice. “What
do we seek in this case?” he concluded. “Re-
317


THE UN SEEN JURY
venge? No. The gray-haired man, beloved of
all, who went to a violent death in the grim silence
of that June night is at rest. Nothing can be done
for him. Is it punishment for a guilty man we
ask? Only in part. The law stands not for pun-
ishment, but for protection to the state. Why is
it that homicide is increasing so rapidly through
this country? Is it because the world is growing
worse? No. Is it because the Republic has
reached a climax and is now sinking ? No. It’s
because an indictment for murder is no longer
dreaded in the United States. My eloquent
brother told you this morning that the present case
brings you a God-given opportunity. It does.
It is an appeal to your patriotism, to your love of
country. I ask you to think of the thousands of
helpless women, innocent children and unarmed
men who went to bloody graves last year through
the hatred and malice of their enemies. Their
cries are hushed, their agony is ended. I ask you
to think of a still sadder company, the thousands
of women, of children and of men who will die next
year, victims of passion or revenge. That, how-
ever, is not the picture I leave with you. Murder-
ers by the thousand are scattered through the
country, but it would take tens of thousands to count
the men with murder in their hearts. It is to this
multitude I would have you speak. Say to them,
318


THE VERDICT
in your verdict, Gentlemen of the Jury, say this:
‘You may commit cold-blooded, brutal murder.
You may seek your enemy at night, by stealth, or
in some solitary place. You may find him unpre-
pared and at your mercy. You may strike him to
the earth, and watch, well-pleased, his death-
writhings. You may do all this and live to laugh
at the law. But you can't do it in Warwick
County / ?”
The voice and manner were more impressive far
than the words, and but for Lee's bearing the ar-
gument would have been of crushing weight.
George thought, however, as he studied their
faces, that the jury were not following the district
attorney with the intentness of earlier sessions.
Then came the charge. Judge Woolston was
entirely fair to the defence. In fact, he leaned if at
all in Lee's direction. He made clear the legal
significance of murder, dwelling at length on
malice aforethought, its character and necessity for
a verdict in the first degree. He took up murder
in the second degree, contrasting it with murder
in the first, and with manslaughter. Then he re-
viewed the groundwork of expert testimony, show-
ing its value and pointing out its dangers. He ex-
plained the nature of circumstantial evidence, and
stated the credence rightly given it. In conclu-
sion he said that the burden of proof is upon the
3I9


THE VERDICT
that he had not done better work in its earlier
days.
“I could have made more points at the start.
I let the district attorney trip me up several times
when I should have had him.”
“Stop right there!” Lee exclaimed im-
pulsively. “I’m perfectly satisfied with every-
thing. No man could have done better!”
The evening wore away, George trying to be
hopeful and to keep Lee so. Shortly after ten an
officer reported that the jury had reached a ver-
dict. Instantly all was activity. A messenger
was sent for Judge Woolston, the reporters and
spectators who had loitered about the corridors or
in the hotel lobby, all hurried to the court-room.
Lee's face lost colour a trifle as they hurried
down, but from tension, not fear. Before starting
he gripped George by the hand. “Whatever
comes, I shall feel the same toward you. I want
to thank you!” he whispered.
Again in court, a realizing sense of the crisis
came over George. In two minutes Lee would
have been convicted of murder or else he would
be free. George felt his breath irregular, but his
hope for acquittal grew with every instant.
The stern-faced jury filed solemnly in, their
gaze straight ahead. Their countenances told
nothing save that they had faced their responsi-
32I


THE UNSEEN J U RY
bility. A silence of the grave filled the court-
room. Those who had followed the trial with
curiosity at white heat had remained through the
evening for the return of the verdict. The sleepi-
ness that had come during hours of inaction was
shaken away for the decisive moment.
The clerk motioned to Lee who rose and faced
the jury, his hand lightly resting on the top of the
enclosure. In one of the supremest moments pos-
sible to a man, George knew that there was no
fear in Lee's face. But he was not watching him.
Instead, chin in hands and body bent forward, his
eyes were on the gray old foreman, seeking to
read in advance the word that held all in its keep-
ing. He could decipher nothing from the ex-
pression.
“How say you, Mr. Foreman and Gentlemen
of the Jury,” the clerk's voice came to him as
from a vast distance. “Is the Defendant Guilty or
Not Guilty as charged in the indictment?”
The room swayed from side to side. George
felt a half-transparent film gather across his eyes.
He could not see the foreman's lips whose head
seemed bobbing up and down. He did not hear
the answer, but a hand crashed on his shoulder
and the room was in violent turmoil. “What is
it?” he exclaimed to a man coming toward him.
“Oh, I did n’t understand at first!” He felt
322


THE VERDICT
momentary faintness, but the mist cleared away.
Court officers were shouting for order, and two or
three reporters held his hand and other men sur-
rounded him.
George glanced back. Now that the strain was
over, Lee was trembling, and more excited than
he had been for months. Their hands came to-
gether and he whispered something.
“Nonsense!” George laughed. “You did it
yourself. It was your testimony that turned the
case. Without that it probably would have gone
against us. But the jury is watching you, Lee.
I think you’d like to shake hands with them l”
The reporters were waiting when George and
Lee passed out. A great weariness held off here-
tofore by excitement had come to George already.
He was in no mood for questions. “There’s
nothing to say!” he protested. Then a thought
of Mr. Taylor slipped into mind. He smiled
faintly. “We had an innocent defendant and an
intelligent jury. The verdict had to come our
way !”
They hastened out of the court-house shoulder
to shoulder. The realization that he was again
walking under the free sky was too much for Lee.
It almost unmanned him. The intensity of relief
was painful.
“And I owe it all to you, George l’’ he kept
323


THE UNSEEN JURY
repeating, “I owe it all to you.” Other things he
said in his generous way.
They reached the hotel, entering through a
cheering crowd who fought for their hands.
“Suppose I telegraph Ruth that you’re coming
over to see her to-morrow morning?” George
suggested.
“And what now?” They had come out from
the office, slipped away from the throng, and were
standing on a side veranda, with a view to the
mountains half-veiled in the thickness of night.
Lee drew deep and exultant breaths. Happiness
was breaking over him in a flood.
“I’m going to bed!” George answered.
324


CHAPTER XXXV
THE SECOND VERDICT
THE next day brought the reaction. The
buoyant lift of the trial had wholly gone, and
George dropped down to Boston in the early
morning, his mind at the bottom of discourage-
ment. He had accepted his duty. He had done
his work. Let others enjoy the benefits.
The air was full of dreariness, and the boister-
ous wind struck viciously against him. Shiver-
ing newsboys in the shelter of dark buildings, and
the people on Tremont Street, chilled and miser-
able as they fought their way up from the Com-
mon, answered well his mood. The drifts came
higher underfoot, and sullen snow fell from a dull
and heavy sky as though it would never cease.
The shop-windows were ablaze with light and
filled with Christmas greens and red holly ber-
ries. To George the whole effect was utterly
gloomy and dispiriting.
His office was no better. The snow crept up
the window by his desk, to the dismal groaning
of the storm. It was so dark that he turned on
the light. Even then gloom continued to settle
325


THE SECOND VERDICT
very soon, perhaps earlier even than I realize, he
will overtake me.
“When I was young, a little beyond twenty,
there was a girl still younger who loved me. I
can see her to-day in her beauty and charm. But
it’s not that I remember most. It’s her innocence.
She loved me and trusted me with all her soul.
• I was young and reckless, but of course
that does n’t lessen the guilt. Murder would have
been light-coloured beside that act of mine.
“A few days passed, then she wrote me a letter
of farewell. She said that I never could do any-
thing for her and that she forgave me fully. She
had one request to make. Whenever I thought
of her she wanted me to remember how great her
love had been. Then she buried herself in a city.
Her relatives tried to find her, but vainly. She
had left no word of blame for me, and nobody
knew my responsibility.
“The shock and remorse were great, but I was
young and gradually drew away from them.
Years passed. I met Ruth's mother. We mar-
ried and Ruth came. Every year I could feel my
character purifying itself as I rose to a better life.
Often I would think of this girl whom I had
damned, and I searched for her continually.
Finally I came to believe her dead. I could do
nothing for her, so turned to help others in her
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THE SECOND VERDICT
and supposed she would not recognize me. But
she glanced toward me once and knew me. That
made her remember what she had been trying for
years to forget. I suppose the past came back to
her as it had never done before. Her face told
that she was thinking of all she had experienced.
The lawyer acquitted her, and I expected to make
her comfortable the rest of her life. She had de-
cided differently. The moment she was free she
vanished, and that night they found her floating in
the river.
“It broke me up completely, and was the cause
of the illness the doctors could n’t explain. Had
my nerves been blunter I might have recovered.
If I had had no family I might have pulled through.
But I could never see Mrs. Maston without think-
ing of that other woman, I could never see Ruth
without a picture of that other young girl, long
years ago.
“The woman is dead, but the circles of evil I
started are widening more and more. My mind
dwells on this constantly, and no one knows my
days and nights of depression. My health has
been lost by the strain of these five years. My
nerves are unstrung and I brood incessantly. My
one enemy — the man I used to be — has nearly
caught up with me. Hour after hour I stand on
the bridge and look into the water. I think of
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THE UN SEEN JURY
that young girl, and then I lean forward and see
the woman floating beneath me. An idea keeps
returning, the need of recompense. I wonder if I
shall ever be able to atone for the wrong, or if not,
I pray that a good God has some place waiting
where I may expiate my sin to the full.
“I write all this, George, that if I should ever
yield to an impulse that frequently comes to me,
you may convince the world that it was an ac-
cident. All my suffering heretofore will be light
compared to my anguish — wherever I am — if
Ruth should learn through what I have been.
“And so, as you value your memories of me,
keep Ruth from knowing or suspecting this that
I have told you. And don't think worse of me
yourself than you have to. God bless you, my
boy.”
Some men attain high character easily, while
others come to it through suffering unmeasured.
George rejoiced that the letter had but strength-
ened his love for Mr. Maston's memory. It
sobered him to think of the misery his old friend
had been through, and the mental trouble that
had borne him down at the last. Whether the
end had come in an instant of extreme remorse,
or during sudden, temporary insanity, it was alike
pitiful.
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THE SECOND VERDICT
George was glad that the opportunity had been
given him to do something for Ruth's happiness.
Now the world need never know the secret of her
father's death, and she would remember him al-
ways as he had wished her to. George read Mr.
Maston's letter through again. If Lee had been
convicted he would have been compelled to
publish it to save an innocent man. Now all that
danger was past. Having once been acquitted,
Lee could never again be tried for Mr. Maston's
death, and no other man's life was in danger.
Lee was still under a cloud, for as long as he
lived many would believe his acquittal a mis-
carriage of justice. Was it altogether right to
him to leave the matter in obscurity? Lee's an-
swer came before the question had been formed
in mind. There was only one thing to do.
George tore the letter into countless fragments,
and, opening the window, watched them mingle
themselves in the fury of the storm. That was
his last act in the case that had held all his wak-
ing hours for six months.
He turned from his memories of Mr. Maston to
think of Ruth. He wondered if Lee were as
happy with her that morning as he would have
been under like conditions.
Various means have been devised by men for
killing Memory, and stifling emptiness of life, but
33I


THE UNSEEN JURY
“No, no ! Hear me through. This morning
Ruth told me the things I did not know. She
told me that you were first to give her news of
my arrest, and that then you said I was n’t guilty,
or at least that she must n’t believe it till you told
her. And I know everything else! She told me
how her relatives and acquaintances had worked
for months to make her cast me off as a friend,
and that you were the only person whose influ-
ence went the other way. I know that you made
her believe in me, no matter what pressure others
exerted. I’ve tried to keep my nerve these
months and pull myself together, but to-day I
learned for the first time that every change for the
better went straight to her. And then what you
said the night before the trial began, that her fa-
ther if living would have no objections to me, and
that there was no obstacle to our marrying !”
“It was true, every word of it. Why should n’t
I have told her?”
“It was white It was whitel I did n’t de-
serve it of you!”
“You look at it entirely the wrong way,”
George protested. “Any man would have done for
you as much as I have.”
“No, he would n’t l But when Ruth was
through all this, I began to talk I told her the
way I had treated you before her father died, and
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THE UN SEEN J U RY
George felt cool fingers across his forehead, but
banished the hope. “Don’t talk like that. It
is n’t so I Every time I’ve spoken to Ruth about
you, I’ve seen love in her eyes !”
“Quite likely. I saw love in her eyes this
morning, too, and I suppose the same love. But
it was n’t for me. It came when I said I was
afraid you’d be ill from over-working in the case.
If I had had no idea previously how she felt, I’d
have known it then. It’s true !”
George stood weakly against the wall. “You’ve
made a mistake. You don't know what you’re
saying !”
“Don’t I ?” Lee broke off in an amused laugh,
not without sadness. “George, you overdid it.
Though I had been your enemy, you thought to
be generous and loyal to me when my trouble
came. But you went too far. You made a mis-
take in the way you influenced Ruth. Girls are
funny. You can make them do about anything if
you don’t try too hard. That’s just what you did.
Ruth had always known that we did n’t like each
other, so it was a big card your standing up for
me when nobody else would. Your praising me
was the surest way of aiding yourself. At the end
every time you mentioned my name you drew her
closer to yourself. To-day she told me by every-
thing but speech what you are to her. She made
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THE SECOND VERDICT
it just as clear as you have made your feeling for
her. And I promised to send you home for a
week's rest.”
“When did I show my feeling for Ruth ?”
“About half-past twelve, yesterday noon. Do
you suppose you could have talked the way you
did that last half hour for the happiness of any
man on earth ?”
Lee's mood changed. The good-humoured
laugh ended; he became silent. He walked to the
window, and without the slightest movement of
body or head peered long into the storm. When
he turned, there were dead hopes in his face, and
a high ambition that had failed attainment. But
there was also generous congratulation, and a
friendship that would abide. He held out his
hand.
“The next train for Woodford leaves at 5: 17,
George!” said Lee Davidson.
337


CHAPTER XXXVI
GEORGE COMES HOME AGAIN
A ROUGH-COATED, shaggy figure stamping the
station platform, his arms thrashing together, was
all George could see that evening when he dropped
off the train. Then a huge warm glove closed
firmly over his hand.
“It’s a wild night, Mr. Hunter 1’’ Hearty wel-
come spoke out through the driving snow from
beneath John's fur cap. “Mr. Davidson told us this
morning that you would be up to-night.”
The thoroughly chilled horses were away
through the storm the instant John touched the
reins, the light sleigh bobbing after. The post-
office corner was taken on one runner, the little
stores of the village were a blurred flash, then the
silent houses flew by, and it was open country with
a hard-packed road stretching into the darkness.
The coachman threw his weight on the reins and
gazed anxiously ahead.
“Let them go, John | Let them go !” George
exclaimed recklessly. “Nobody will be out to-
night !”
He sank low, drawing the heavy robes about
338