The preliminary inquiry into the case of Ephriam Cooley resulted in his being held over to the next meeting of the Grand Jury, which was yet some months away.
Mr. Carr was not left alone in his grief. Elliott Harding gave up residence at his uncle’s home and went to live with and care for him.
Among the neighboring people, there prevailed a respect for these two in their distress which was full of gentleness and delicacy. Men kept apart when they were seen walking with slow steps on the street, or stood in knots talking compassionately among themselves.
At length the day came when the Grand Jury was in session. The absence of witnesses, upon which the defense had relied to argue the innocence of the accused, caused the prisoner’s counsel no little uneasiness as the hour for the opening of the court drew near. As he paced restlessly to and fro in the reserved space before the bench, there was a look of anxiety on his countenance and a frown upon his brow.
When the hands of the big clock pointed to nine, the judge ascended the bench and took his seat. It was the signal for breathless silence, and as if to emphasize this silence, his honor rapped sharply with his gavel upon the desk in front of him.
The clerk read the minutes of the preceding day and took the volume over for the judicial signature.
“The case of the State against Ephriam Cooley,” called the clerk. “Are both sides ready?”
The look of concern grew deeper on the face of the defendant’s attorney. He asked for a few minutes’ consultation with his witnesses and retired into an ante-room. Presently the door of this room opened and the attorney reappeared. The expression of anxiety and suspense had not left his face.
“Your Honor,” he said, “the defense must ask for a continuance. We had hoped to be ready to proceed with the case without delay or cost to the state, but a witness whose testimony is essential and whom the defense has spared no diligence to secure, has failed to appear. Believing that the just interests of our client will suffer if we enter into trial without this witness, we have decided to ask Your Honor to continue the case until the next term.”
The audience could scarcely restrain its impatience, and the judge found it necessary to call for order before stating that the postponement was granted.
The courtroom was soon cleared. Groups of excited men gathered upon the street, their looks indicating sullen anger and desperate resolve. The bayonets of the militia had been set bristling around the jail and their gleam was all that kept the crowds back.
Meanwhile, the strain upon Elliott Harding was telling. He walked erect with an effort and spent much of the time alone in his office, with his head bowed upon the desk, moaning in unutterable anguish. His suffering had drained his very soul—he could weep no more. Since the tragedy, every hour, every day had been a lifetime of misery. Fate had employed his bravest deeds for the breaking of his stout heart. Unheld, unhindered, he had long chosen his road but now he was grasped with sovereign indifference while there was brought upon him punishment for the insufferable egotism of his stubborn contentions. This was the bitterest cup he was ever called upon to drain, and he was never the same after draining it. He was experiencing perhaps what the earth experiences when it is furrowed with the share that the grain may be sown; it feels the wound alone, the thrill of the germ and the joy of the fruit are not yet come to comfort it.
Mr. Carr was rapidly growing feeble. He was quite shut in. But with every fiber of the Carr endurance, he clung to life, with every desire intensified into the longing to live until the murderer’s trial was ended. On this night he sat in a large wooden rocker near the window, with a pillow at his shoulders. His pathetic figure, with its long attenuated frame, testified to his rapid decline. The soft south wind waved the white locks fringing his temples. One shaking hand lay helplessly on the arm of the chair, the other held loose grasp of a remotely-dated family monthly. His gray eyes, bright and clear in spite of their fine, crape-like setting of wrinkles, were absently turned to the sky. They kindled as Elliott laid a hand gently upon his shoulder.
“How is my dear father by now?”
“Pretty well,” he answered faintly—his old reply.
“That’s good!” and Elliott tried to smile as he sank wearily into a chair.
Mr. Carr, noticing how thinly his lips fitted about his white, even teeth, asked, “What have they done to my boy?”
“Done enough, father,” said Elliot, starting up and revealing his haggard, agitated face. “They have postponed the trial.”