THE VERDICT
Gordon seemed to take no further interest in the trial. He only sat
day after day and watched Ruth. Now and then a faint flush tinged
the prison pallor of his cheeks as from some thought passing in
his memory.
Barringer's speech to the jury was one of fierce and terrible
eloquence. Every art of persuasion, every trick of oratory, every
force of personality he used with pitiless power. In ridicule,
sarcasm, invective, pathos and logic, his voice rose and fell,
pulsed and quivered, or rang with the peal of a trumpet. He held
the jury in the hollow of his hand for four hours, while Ruth stared
at him with her heart in her throat, every word cutting her flesh
like a knife or smashing the tissues of her brain with the force
of a bludgeon.
The jury retired.
Through the dreary hours of the afternoon Ruth sat in the anteroom
by Gordon's side waiting for the verdict. Minutes lengthened into
hours, and hours into days and years, until time and eternity were
one, and she lived a life of despair or hope within the second
between the ticks of the clock on the wall.
She tried to say a word of cheer to Gordon, and choked. The little
chin drooped, showing the white teeth, and she sat in dumb misery
like a sick child.
The man looked at her tenderly and said:
"You must be calm, Ruth, dear. Death is a physical incident that
no longer interests me, except as it affects you. You are the one
miracle of life and death to me."
She pressed his hand and could not answer.
At five o'clock the jury returned for instructions, and she listened
with agony to their awful questions.
At six o'clock there was a hurried stir in the court-room. The
crowd surged into its doors and packed every inch of space.
The jury were filing in with their verdict.
The judge solemnly took his seat, and the clerk summoned Gordon to
stand up.
The giant figure rose with dignity and his steel-gray eyes pierced
the jury.
The foreman's lips moved:
"Guilty of murder in the first degree!"
A long breath, a stir, a murmur, and then a broken sob from a woman's
heart. Her arms were around his neck, her head on his breast, and
her swollen lips in low, piteous tones cried:
"My darling!"