"A WISE JUDGE"
When the interminable night would end Mildred could not guess, for
no dawning was visible from her basement cell. The woman opposite
gradually became stupid and silent. Other prisoners were brought
in from time to time, but they were comparatively quiet. A young
girl was placed in a cell not far away, and her passionate weeping
was pitiful to hear. The other prisoners were generally intoxicated
or stolidly indifferent, and were soon making the night hideous
with their discordant respiration.
The place had become so terrible to Mildred that she even welcomed
the presence of the policeman who had arrested her, and who at
last came to take her to the police court. Must she walk with him
through the streets in the open light of day? She feared she would
faint on what, in her weakness, would be a long journey, and her
heart gave a great throb of gratitude as she saw Eoger awaiting
her in the large general room, or entrance, to the station-house.
Nor was her appreciation of his kindness diminished when she saw
a man in attendance--evidently a waiter from a restaurant--with a
plate of sandwiches and a pot of coffee. Roger came forward, eagerly
grasping her hand, and there was so much solicitude and sympathy
in his dark eyes that her tears began to gather, and a faint color
to suffuse the pallor that at first had startled him.
"Mr. Atwood," she murmured, "you are kindness itself, and I have
not deserved it. Forgive me. I will try not to fail you to-day,
for your respect sustains me, and I would not lose it."
"I knew your brave spirit would second all our efforts," he
said in like low tones, and with a bright, grateful look. "Here,
waiter--come, Miss Jocelyn, it's by just such prosaic means that
soldiers sustain the fight. You'll dine at home."
"Yes, hurry up," added the officer; "we have no time now for words
or ceremony."
She ate a few mouthfuls, and drank some coffee. "I cannot take any
more now," she said to Roger.
Oh, how plainly her womanly instinct divined his unbounded loyalty;
and, with bitter protest at her weakness, she knew with equal
certainty that she shrank from his love with her old, unconquerable
repugnance. With a dissimulation which even he did not penetrate,
she looked her thanks as the officer led the way to the street,
and said, "Since your friends provide the carriage, you can ride,
miss; only we can't part company."
She stepped into the coach, the policeman taking the opposite seat.
"Oh, God, how pale and wan she is! This will kill her," Roger
groaned, as she sprang up on the box with the driver.
It was so early that few were abroad, and yet Mildred would not look
up. How could she ever look up again! The leaden clouds seemed to
rest upon the steeples of the churches. Churches! and such scenes
as she had witnessed, and such a wrong as hers, were taking place
under the shadow of their spires!
Roger had passed as sleepless a night as had fallen to Mildred's
lot, and bitterly he regretted that he had been able to accomplish
so little. Mr. Wentworth was out of town, and would not be back for
a day or two. Then he sought the judge before whom Mildred would
appear the following morning, and learned, with dismay, that he,
too, had gone to a neighboring city, and would return barely in
time to open court at the usual hour! He had hoped that, by telling
his story beforehand, the judge would adopt his plan of discovering
the real culprit. This was still his hope, for, after long thought,
he determined not to employ counsel, fearing it would lead to a
prolongation of the case. His strong characteristic of self-reliance
led him to believe that he could manage the affair best alone, and
he was confident from his own inexperience. The rain had ceased,
and for hours he paced the wet pavement near the station-house,
finding a kind of satisfaction in being as near as possible to the
one he loved, though utterly unable to say a reassuring word.
Having learned that the prisoners might ride to court if the means
were provided, he had a carriage ready long before the appointed
time, and his presence did much to nerve Mildred for the ordeal
she so much dreaded.
On reaching the entrance at which the prisoners were admitted,
he sprang down to assist Mildred to alight; but the officer said
gruffly, "Stand back, young man; you must have your say in the
court-room. You are a little too officious."
"No, sir; I'm only most friendly."
"Well, well, we have our rules," and he led the trembling girl
within the stony portals, and she was locked up in what is termed
"the box," with the other female prisoners, who were now arriving
on foot.
This was, perhaps, the worst experience she had yet endured, and
she longed for the privacy of her cell again. Never before had
she come in contact with such debased wrecks of humanity, and she
blushed for womanhood as she cowered in the furthest corner and
looked upon her companions--brutal women, with every vice stamped
on their bloated features. The majority were habitual drunkards,
filthy in person and foul of tongue. True to their depraved instincts,
they soon began to ridicule and revile one who, by contrast, proved
how fallen and degraded they were. And yet, not even from these
did the girl recoil with such horror as from some brazen harpies
who said words in her ear that made her hide her face with shame.
The officer in charge saw that she was persecuted, and sternly
interfered in her behalf, but from their hideous presence and
contact she could not escape.
By some affinity not yet wholly obliterated, the girl she had heard
weeping in the night shrank to her side, and her swollen eyes and
forlorn appearance could not hide the fact that she was very young,
and might be very pretty. Mildred knew not what to say to her, but
she took her hand and held it. This silent expression of sympathy
provoked another outburst of grief, and the poor young creature
sobbed on Mildred's shoulder as if her heart were breaking. Mildred
placed a sustaining arm around her, but her own sustaining truth
and purity she could not impart.
A partition only separated her from the "box"--which was simply a
large wooden pen with round iron bars facing the corridor--to which
the male prisoners were brought, one after another, by the policemen
who had arrested them. The arrival of the judge was somewhat delayed,
and may the reader never listen to such language as profaned her
ears during the long hour and a half before the opening of the
court.
Fortunately her turn came rather early, and she at last was ushered
to the doorway which looked upon the crowded court-room, and her
heart throbbed with hope as she singled out her mother, Belle, Mrs.
Wheaton, and Roger, from among long lines of curious and repulsive
faces. The former kissed their hands to her, and tried to give wan,
reassuring smiles, which their tears belied. Roger merely bowed
gravely, and then, with an expression that was singularly alert and
resolute, gave his whole attention to all that was passing. After
recognizing her friends, Mildred turned to the judge, feeling that
she would discover her fate in his expression and manner. Was he
a kindly, sympathetic man, unhardened by the duties of his office?
She could learn but little from his grave, impassive face. She soon
feared that she had slight cause for hope, for after what seemed
to her an absurdly brief, superficial trial, she saw two of her
companions of the "box" sentenced to three months' imprisonment.
The decision, which to her had such an awful import, was pronounced
in an off-hand manner, and in the matter-of-fact tone with which
one would dispose of bales of merchandise, and the floods of tears
and passionate appeals seemingly had no more effect on the arbiter
of their fates than if he had been a stony image. She could not
know that they were old offenders, whose character was well known
to the judge and the officers that had arrested them. Such apparent
haphazard justice or injustice had a most depressing effect upon
her and the weeping girl who stood a little in advance.
The next prisoner who appeared before the bar received very different
treatment. He was a middle-aged man, and had the appearance and
was clothed in the garb of a gentleman. With nervously trembling
hands and bowed head, he stood before the judge, who eyed him
keenly, after reading the charge of intoxication in the streets.
"Have you ever been arrested before?" he asked.
"No indeed, sir," was the low, emphatic reply. "Come up here; I
wish to speak with you."
The officer in attendance took the half-comprehending man by the
elbow and led him up within the bar before the long desk which ran
the whole width of the court-room, and behind which the judge sat
with his clerks and assistants.
"Now tell me all about it," said the judge, and the man in a few
words told his story without any palliation. With a gleam of hope
Mildred saw the expression of the judge's face change as he listened,
and when at last he replied, in tones so low that none could hear
them save he to whom they were addressed, she saw that look which
wins all hearts--the benignant aspect of one who might condemn for
evil, but who would rather win and save from evil. The man slowly
lifted his eyes to the speaker's face, and hope and courage began
to show themselves in his bearing. The judge brought his extortation
to a practical conclusion, for he said, "Promise me that with God's
help you will never touch the vile stuff again."
The promise was evidently sincere and hearty. "Give me your hand
on it," said his Honor.
The man started as if he could scarcely believe his ears, then
wrung the judge's hand, while his eyes moistened with gratitude.
"You are at liberty. Good-morning, sir;" and the man turned and
walked through the crowded court-room, with the aspect of one to
whom manhood had been restored.
Hope sprang up in Mildred's heart, for she now saw that her fate
was not in the hands of a stony-hearted slave of routine. She looked
toward her relatives, and greeted their tearful smiles with a wan
glimmer of light on her own face, and then she turned to watch the
fortunes of the weeping girl who followed next in order. She did
not know the charge, but guessed it only too well from the judge's
face, as the officer who had arrested her made his low explanation.
She, too, was summoned within the rail, and the judge began to
question her. At first she was too greatly overcome by her emotions
to answer. As she cowered, trembled, and sobbed, she might well
have been regarded as the embodiment of that shame and remorse
which overwhelm fallen womanhood before the heart is hardened and
the face made brazen by years of vice. Patiently and kindly the
judge drew from her faltering lips some pitiful story, and then he
talked to her in low, impressive tones, that seemed to go straight
to her despairing soul. A kind, firm, protecting hand might then
have led her back to a life of virtue, for such had been her bitter
foretastes of the fruits of sin that surely she would have gladly
turned from them, could the chance have been given to her. The
judge mercifully remitted her punishment, and gave her freedom.
Who received her, as she turned her face toward the staring throng
that intervened between her and the street? Some large-hearted
woman, bent on rescuing an erring sister? Some agent of one of the
many costly charities of the city? No, in bitter shame, no. Only
the vile madam who traded on the price of her body and soul, and
who, with vulture-like eyes, had watched the scene. She only had
stood ready to pay the fine, if one had been imposed according to
the letter of the law. She only received the weak and friendless
creature, from whom she held as pledges all her small personal
effects, and to whom she promised immediate shelter from the
intolerable stare that follows such victims of society. The girl's
weak, pretty face, and soft, white hands were but too true an
index to her infirm will and character, and, although fluttering
and reluctant, she again fell helpless into the talons of the harpy.
Hapless girl! you will probably stand at this bar again, and full
sentence will then be given against you. The judge frowned heavily
as he saw the result of his clemency, and then, as if it were an
old story, he turned to the next culprit. Mildred had been much
encouraged as she watched the issue of the two cases just described;
but as her eyes followed the girl wistfully toward the door of
freedom she encountered the cold, malignant gaze of the man who
had charge of her department at the shop, and who she instinctively
felt was the cause of her shameful and dangerous position. By his side
sat the two women who had searched her and the leading foreman of
the store. Sick and faint from apprehension, she turned imploringly
toward Roger, who was regarding the floor-walker with such vindictive
sternness that she felt the wretch's hour of reckoning would soon
come, whatever might be her fate. This added to her trouble, for
she feared that she was involving Roger in danger.
No time was given for thoughts on such side issues, for the prisoner
preceding her in the line was sentenced, after a trial of three
minutes--a summary proceeding that was not hope-inspiring.
The name of Mildred Jocelyn was now called, and there was a murmur
of expectant interest in the court-room, for she was not by any
means an ordinary prisoner in appearance, and there were not a few
present who knew something of the case. The young girl was pushed
before the bar, and would gladly have clung to it, in order to
support her trembling form. But while she could not infuse vigor
into her overtaxed muscles, her brave spirit rallied to meet the
emergency, and she fixed her eyes unwaveringly upon the judge,
who now for the first time noticed her attentively, and it did not
escape her intensely quickened perceptions that his eyes at once
grew kindly and sympathetic. Sitting day after day, and year after
year, in his position, he had gained a wonderful insight into
character, and in Mildred's pure, sweet face he saw no evidence of
guilt or of criminal tendencies. It was, indeed, white with fear,
and thin from wearing toil and grief; but this very pallor made
it seem only more spiritual and free from earthliness, while every
feature, and the unconscious grace of her attitude, bespoke high
breeding and good blood.
First, the officer who arrested her told his story, and then the
elder of the two women who searched her was summoned as the first
witness. The judge looked grave, and he glanced uneasily at the
prisoner from time to time; but the same clear, steadfast eyes
met his gaze, unsullied by a trace of guilt. Then the second woman
corroborated the story of her associate, and the judge asked, "How
came you to suspect the prisoner so strongly as to search her?"
and at this point the floor-walker was summoned.
The vigilant magistrate did not fail to note the momentary glance
of aversion and horror which Mildred bestowed upon this man, and
then her eyes returned with so deep and pathetic an appeal to his
face that his heart responded, and his judgment led him also to
believe that there was error and perhaps wrong in the prosecution.
Still he was compelled to admit to himself that the case looked very
dark for the girl, who was gaining so strong a hold on his sympathy.
"I must inform your Honor," began the witness plausibly, after
having been sworn, "that laces had been missed from the department
in which this girl was employed, and I was keenly on the alert,
as it was my duty to be. Some suspicious circumstances led me to
think that the prisoner was the guilty party, and the search proved
my suspicions to be correct."
"What were the suspicious circumstances?"
The man seemed at a loss for a moment. "Well, your Honor, she went
to the cloak-room yesterday afternoon," he said.
"Do not all the girls go to the cloak-room occasionally?"
"Yes, but there was something in her face and manner that fastened
my suspicions upon her."
"What evidences of guilt did you detect?"
"I can scarcely explain--nothing very tangible. The evidences of
guilt were found on her person, your Honor."
"Yes, so much has been clearly shown."
"And she was very reluctant to be searched, which would not have
been the case had she been conscious of innocence."
The woman who searched her was now asked, "Did she shrink from
search, in such a manner as to betoken guilt?"
"I can't say that she did show any fear of being searched by us,"
was the reply. "She refused to be searched in the private office
of the firm."
"That is, in the presence of men? Quite naturally she did." Then to
the floor-walker, "Have your relations with this girl been entirely
friendly?"
"I am glad to say I have no relations with her whatever. My relations
are the same that I hold to the other girls--merely to see that
they do their duty."
"You are perfectly sure that you have never cherished any ill-will
toward her?"
"So far from it, I was at first inclined to be friendly."
"What do you mean by the term friendly?"
"Well, your Honor" (a little confusedly), "the term seems plain
enough."
"And she did not reciprocate your friendship?" was the keen query.
"After I came to know her better, I gave her no occasion to reciprocate
anything; and, pardon me, your Honor, I scarcely see what bearing
these questions have on the plain facts in the case."
A slight frown was the only evidence that the judge had noted the
impertinent suggestion that he did not know his business.
"Are you perfectly sure that you cherish no ill-will toward the
prisoner?"
"I simply wish to do my duty by my employers. I eventually learned
that her father was an opium-eater and a sot, and I don't fancy
that kind of people. That is my explanation," he concluded, with
a large attempt at dignity, and in a tone that he evidently meant
all should hear.
"Her father is not on trial, and that information was uncalled for.
Have you any further testimony?" the judge asked coldly.
"No, sir," and he stepped down amid a suppressed hiss in the
court-room, for the spectators evidently shared in the antipathy
with which he had inspired the keen-eyed but impassive and reticent
magistrate, who now beckoned Mildred to step up close to him, and
she came to him as if he were her friend instead of her judge.
He was touched by her trust; and her steadfast look of absolute
confidence made him all the more desirous of protecting her, if he
could find any warrant for doing so. She said to him unmistakably
by her manner, "I put myself in your hands."
"My child," the judge began seriously, yet kindly, "this is a very
grave charge that is brought against you, and if it is your wish
you can waive further trial before me at this stage of proceedings,
for unless you can prove yourself innocent at this preliminary
examination, your case must be heard before a higher court. Perhaps
you had better obtain counsel, and have the whole matter referred
at once to the grand jury."
"I would rather be tried by you, sir," Mildred replied, in a
vibrating voice full of deep, repressed feeling; "I am innocent.
It would be like death to me to remain longer under this shameful
charge. I have confidence in you. I know I am guiltless. Please
let me be tried now, NOW, for I cannot endure it any longer."
"Very well, then;" and he handed her a small, grimy Bible, that,
no doubt, had been kissed by scores of perjured lips. But Mildred
pressed hers reverently upon it, as she swore to "tell the truth,
the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."
After a few preliminary questions as to age, etc., the justice
said, reassuringly, "Now tell your story briefly and clearly."
It was indeed a brief story, and it had the impress of truth; but
his Honor looked very grave as he recognized how little there was
in it to refute the positive testimony already given. "Have you
witnesses?" he asked.
"My mother and sister are present, and--and--a young man who thinks
he knows something in my favor."
"I will hear your mother first," said the judge, believing that in
her he would find the chief source of character; and when the sad,
refined gentlewoman stood beside her daughter, he was all the more
convinced that the girl ought to be innocent, and that all his
insight into character and its origin would be at fault if she were
not. In low, eager tones, Mrs. Jocelyn spoke briefly of their
misfortunes, and testified as to Mildred's conduct. "She has
been an angel of patience and goodness in our home," she said, in
conclusion; "and if this false charge succeeds, we shall be lost
and ruined indeed. My daughter's pastor is out of town, and in our
poverty we have few friends who could be of any service. An old
neighbor, Mrs. Wheaton, is present, and will confirm my words, if
you wish; but we would thank your Honor if you will call Mr. Roger
Atwood, who says he has information that will aid my child."
"Very well, madam," responded the judge kindly, "we will hear Mr.
Atwood."
Roger was now sworn, while Mrs. Jocelyn returned to her seat. In
the young fellow's frank, honest face the judge found an agreeable
contrast with the ill-omened visage of the floor-walker, whose good
looks could not hide an evil nature.
"I must beg your Honor to listen to me with patience," Roger began
in a low tone, "for my testimony is peculiar, and does not go far
enough unless furthered by your Honor's skill in cross-questioning;"
and in eager tones, heard only by the judge, he told what he
had seen, and suggested his theory that if the girl, whom he had
followed two evenings before, could be examined previous to any
communication with her accomplice, she would probably admit the
whole guilty plot.
The judge listened attentively, nodding approvingly as Roger
finished, and said, "Leave me to manage this affair. I wish you to
go at once with an officer, point out this girl to him, and bring
her here. She must not have communication with any one. Nor must
anything be said to her relating to the case by either you or the
officer. Leave her wholly to me."
A subpoena was made out immediately and given to a policeman, with
a few whispered and emphatic injunctions, and Roger was told to
accompany him.
"This case is adjourned for the present. You may sit with your
mother within the railing," he added kindly to Mildred.
The floor-walker had been watching the turn that the proceedings
were taking with great uneasiness, and now was eager to depart,
in order to caution the girl that Roger was in pursuit of against
admitting the least knowledge of the affair; but the judge was too
quick for him, and remarked that he was not through with him yet,
and requested that he and the representative of the firm should remain.
The two women who had testified against Mildred were permitted to
depart. Then, as if dismissing the case from his mind, he proceeded
to dispose of the other prisoners.
Belle joined her sister, and greeted her with great effusiveness,
looking ready to champion her against the world; but they at last
quieted her, and waited with trembling impatience and wonder for
the outcome of Roger's mission.
The girl who had been led to wrong Mildred so greatly returned to the
shop that morning with many misgivings, which were much increased
when she learned what had occurred. She also felt that her accomplice
had dealt treacherously in allowing such serious proceedings against
Mildred, for he had promised that she should be merely taxed with
theft and warned to seek employment elsewhere. "If he deceives in
one respect he will in another, and I'm not safe from arrest either,"
she said to herself, and she made so many blunders in her guilty
preoccupation that she excited the surprise of her companions. As
she was waiting on a customer she heard a voice remark, "That's the
girl," and looking up she grew faint and white as she saw, standing
before her, a policeman, who served his subpoena at once, saying,
"You must go with me immediately."
Frightened and irresolute, she stammered that she knew nothing
about the affair.
"Well, then, you must come and tell his Honor so."
"Must I go?" she appealed to one of the firm, who happened to be
near.
"Certainly," he replied, examining the subpoena; "go and tell all
you know, or if you don't know anything, say so."
"I don't see why I should be dragged into the case--" she began
brazenly.
"There's the reason," said the officer impatiently; "that subpoena
has the power of bringing any man or woman in the city."
Seeing that resistance was useless, she sullenly accompanied them
to a street-car, and was soon in readiness to be called upon for
her testimony. The judge having disposed of the case then on trial,
Mildred was again summoned to the bar, and the unwilling witness
was sent for. She only had time to cast a reproachful glance at
the man who, she feared, had betrayed her, and who tried, by his
manner, to caution her, when the judge demanded her attention, he
having in the meantime noted the fellow's effort.
"Stand there," he said, placing her so that her back was toward
the man who sought to signal silence. "Officer, swear her. Now,"
he resumed severely, "any deviation from the truth, and the whole
truth, will be perjury, which, you know, is a State-prison offence.
I can assure you most honestly that it will be better for you, in
all respects, to hide nothing, for you will soon discover that I
know something about this affair."
After the preliminary questions, which were asked with impressive
solemnity, he demanded, "Did you not leave the shop on Tuesday
evening, and pass up the Avenue to----Street?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you not look back twice, to see if you were followed?"
"I may have looked back."
"You don't deny it, then?"
"No, sir."
"Did not Mr. Bissel, the floor-walker, join you in----Street, before
you had gone very far?"
"Ye--yes, sir," with a start.
"Did he not say something that agitated you very much?"
"He may have frightened me," she faltered.
"Yes, he probably did; but why? Did you not make a strong gesture
of protest against what he said?"
"Yes, sir," with a troubled stare at the judge.
"Did you not go on with him very quietly and submissively, after
a moment or two?"
"Yes, sir," and her face now was downcast, and she began to tremble.
"Did you not enter a covered alley-way, that led to tenements in
the rear?"
"Yes, sir," with increasing agitation.
"Well, what did you do there?"
"Has he told on me, your Honor?" she gasped, with a sudden flood
of tears.
"What he has done is no concern of yours. You are under oath to
tell the whole truth. There was a single gas-jet burning in the
covered passage-way, was there not?"
"Yes, sir," sobbing violently.
"Has Miss Mildred Jocelyn ever wronged you?"
"N--no, sir, not that I know of."
"Now tell me just what occurred under that gas-jet."
"I'll tell your Honor the whole truth," the girl burst out, "if
your Honor'll let me off this time. It's my first offence, and
we're poor, and I was driven to it by need, and he promised me that
Miss Jocelyn wouldn't suffer anything worse than a warning to find
another place."
Believing that her accomplice had betrayed her, she told the whole
story without any concealment, fully exonerating Mildred. Although
the judge maintained his stern, impassive aspect throughout the
scene, he hugely enjoyed the floor-walker's dismay and confusion,
and his tortured inability to warn the girl to deny everything.
"Please, your Honor, forgive me this time," sobbed the trembling
witness in conclusion, "and I'll never do wrong again."
"I have no right or power to punish you," replied the judge; "it
rests wholly with your employers whether they will prosecute you
or not. Send that floor-walker here" (to an officer). "Well, sir,
what have you to say to this testimony?" he asked, as the fellow
shuffled forward, pale and irresolute. "Remember, you are still
under oath."
The wily villain, caught in his own trap, hesitated. He was tempted
to deny that the plot against Mildred was at his instigation; but,
like the girl, he saw that the judge had mysterious information on
the subject, and he could not tell how far this knowledge went. If
he entered on a series of denials he might be confronted by another
witness. The young man who had been sent to identify the girl, and
whose unexpected presence had brought such disaster, might have
been concealed in the passage-way, and so have seen and heard all.
With the fear of an indictment for perjury before his eyes the
fellow began to whine.
"I was only trying to protect the interests of my employers. I had
suspected the Jocelyn girl--" At this there arose from the court-room
a loud and general hiss, Which the judge repressed, as he sternly
interposed,
"We have nothing to do with your suspicions. Do you deny the
testimony?"
"No, sir; but--"
"That's enough. No words; step down." Then turning to Mildred, he
said kindly and courteously, "Miss Jocelyn, it gives me pleasure
to inform you that your innocence has been clearly shown. I should
also inform you that this man Bissel has made himself liable
to suit for damages, and I hope that you will prosecute him. I am
sorry that you have been subjected to so painful an ordeal. You
are now at liberty."
"I thank--oh, I thank and bless your Honor," said Mildred, with
such a depth of gratitude and gladness in her face that the judge
smiled to himself several times that day. It was like a burst of
June sunshine after a storm. While the witness was admitting the
facts which would prove her guiltless, Mildred was scarcely less
agitated than the wretched girl herself; but her strong excitement
showed itself not by tears, but rather in her dilated eyes, nervously
trembling form, and quickly throbbing bosom. Now that the tension
was over she sank on a bench near, and covering her eyes, from
which gushed a torrent of tears, with her hands, murmured audibly,
"Thank God! oh, thank God! He has not deserted me after all."
Looks of strong sympathy were bent upon her from all parts of the
room, and even the judge himself was so much affected that he took
prompt refuge in the duties of his office, and summoning the foreman
of the shop, said, "You may inform your employers how matters
stand." This functionary had been regarding the later stage of the
proceedings in undisguised astonishment, and now hastened to depart
with his tidings, the floor-walker following him with the aspect
of a whipped cur, and amid the suppressed groans and hisses of the
spectators. The girl, too, slunk away after them in the hope of
making peace with her employers.
The judge now observed that Roger had buttonholed a reporter, who
had been dashing off hieroglyphics that meant a spicy paragraph the
following day. Summoning the young man, he said, as if the affair
were of slight importance, "Since the girl has been proved innocent,
and will have no further relation to the case, I would suggest
that, out of deference to her friends and her own feelings, there
be no mention of her name," and the news-gatherer good-naturedly
acceded to the request.
A new case was called, and new interests, hopes, and fears agitated
the hearts of other groups, that had been drawn to the judgment-seat
by the misfortunes or crimes of those bound to them by various
ties.
Mrs. Jocelyn would not leave the place, which she had so dreaded,
until Roger could accompany them, and they chafed at every moment
of delay that prevented their pouring out their thanks. But Mildred's
heart was too full for words. She fully understood how great
a service he had rendered her. She bitterly reproached herself for
all her prejudice in the past, and was in a mood for any self-sacrifice
that he would ask. Tears of deep and mingled feeling fell fast,
and she longed to escape from the staring crowd. Not before such
witnesses could she speak and look the gratitude she felt.
With downcast eyes and quivering lips she followed her mother--to
whom Roger had given his arm--from the court-room. A carriage stood
at the door, into which Mrs. Jocelyn was hurried before she could
speak; then turning so promptly that there was no chance even for
exuberant Belle or the effervescing Mrs. Wheaton to utter a syllable,
Roger seized Mildred's hand, and said earnestly, "Thanks for your
aid, Miss Jocelyn. I thought you were the bravest girl in the world,
and you have proved it. I am as glad as you are, and this is the
happiest moment in my life. I've just one favor to ask--please rest,
and don't worry about anything--not ANYTHING. That's all. Good-by,
for I must be off to business;" and before she or any of them could
speak he caught a swiftly passing street-car and disappeared.