The others of the party entered the court room and were shown to the seats that Captain Forsythe had taken particular pains to reserve for them.  The case, evidently an interesting one to judge from the number of people present, was in progress as they quietly settled down in their chairs at the back.  From the vantage point of a slight eminence they found themselves afforded an excellent and unimpaired view of his lordship, the jury, prisoner, witness and barristers.  Presumably the case had reached an acute stage, for even the judge appeared slightly mindful of what was going on, and allowed his glance to stray toward the witness.  The latter, a little man, in cheap attire flashily debonnaire if the worse for long service, seemed to experience difficulty in speaking, to hesitate before his words, and, when he did answer, to betray in his tone no great amount of confidence.  He looked weary and somewhat crestfallen, as if his will were being broken down, or subjected to a severe strain, the truth being ground out of him by some irresistible process.

“That’s John Steele cross-examining now!” Captain Forsythe whispered to the girl.  “And that’s Dandy Joe, as he’s called, one of the police spies, cheap race-track man and so on, in the box.  He came to the front in a murder trial quite celebrated in its day, and one I always had my own little theory about.  Not that it matters now!” he added with a sigh.

But the girl was listening to another voice, a clear voice, a quiet voice, a voice capable of the strongest varying accents.  She looked at the speaker; he held himself with the assurance of one certain of his ground.  His shoulders were straight and broad; he stood like an athlete, and, when he moved, it was impossible to be unconscious of a certain physical grace that came from well-trained muscles.  He carried his head high, as if from a habit of thought, of looking up, not down, when he turned from the pages of the heavy tomes in his study; his face conveyed an impression of intelligence and intensity; his eyes, dark, deep, searched fully those they rested on.

He had reached a point in his cross-examination where he had almost thoroughly discredited this witness for the prosecution, when turning toward a table to take up a paper, his glance, casually lifting, rested on the distinguished party in the rear of the room, or rather it rested on one of them.  Against the dark background, the girl’s golden hair was well-calculated to catch the wandering gaze; the flowers in her hat, the great bunch of violets in her dress added insistent alluring bits of color in the dim spot where she sat.  Erect as a lily stem, she looked oddly out of place in that large, somber room; there, where the harsh requiem of bruised and broken lives unceasingly sounded, she seemed like some presence typical of spring, wafted thither by mistake.  The man continued to regard her.  Suddenly he started, and his eyes almost eagerly searched the lovely, proud face.