“That is direct proof,” said Justice Millet, with a glance at his brother on the bench.  “After this there can be no doubt in any mind.”

“Peradventure the prisoner can explain how he came by the document,” said Justice Hide.

“Have you anything to say as to how you became possessed of it?”

“Nothing.”

“Will you offer the court no explanation?”

“None.”

“Would the answer criminate you?”

No reply.

For Ralph the anguish of years was concentrated in that moment.  He might say where he was on the night of the murder, but then he had Sim only for witness.  He thought of Robbie Anderson—­why was he not here?  But no, Robbie was better away; he could only clear him of this guilt by involving his father.  And what evidence would avail against the tangible witness of the warrant?  He had preserved that document with some vague hope of serving Sim, but here it was the serpent in the breast of both.

“This old man,” he said,—­his altered tone startled the listeners,—­“this old man,” he said, pointing to Sim at his side, “is as innocent of the crime as the purest soul that stands before the White Throne.”

“And what of yourself?”

“As for me, as for me,” he added, struggling with the emotion that surged in his voice, “in the sight of Him that searcheth all hearts I have acquittal.  I have sought it long and with tears of Him before whom we are all as chaff.”

“Away with him, the blasphemer!” cried Justice Millet.  “Know where you are, sir.  This is an assembly of Christians.  Dare you call God to acquit you of your barbarous crimes?”

The people in the court took up the judge’s word and broke out into a tempest of irrepressible groans.  They were the very people who had cheered a week ago.

Sim cowered in a corner of the box, with his lank fingers in his long hair.

Ralph looked calmly on.  He was not to be shaken now.  There was one way in which he could quell that clamor and turn it into a tumult of applause, but that way should not be taken.  He could extricate himself by criminating his dead father, but that he should never do.  And had he not come to die?  Was not this the atonement he had meant to make?  It was right, it was right, and it was best.  But what of Sim; must he be the cause of Sim’s death also?  “This poor old man,” he repeated, when the popular clamor had subsided, “he is innocent.”

Sim would have risen, but Ralph guessed his purpose and kept him to his seat.  At the same moment Willy Ray among the people was seen struggling towards the witness-bar.  Ralph guessed his purpose and checked him, too, with a look.  Willy stood as one petrified.  He saw only one of two men for the murderer—­Ralph or his father.

“Let us go together,” whispered Sim; and in another moment the judge (Justice Millet) was summing up.  He was brief; the evidence of the woman Rushton and of the recovered warrant proved everything.  The case was as clear as noonday.  The jurors need not leave the box.