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.”