Three votes were at once registered in this way, including the vote of the foreman.  After a moment of doubt, the chorus of five decided on following the opinion which happened to be the first opinion expressed in point of time.  Thereupon, the show of hands for the condemnation of the prisoner rose to eight.  Would this result have an effect on the undecided minority of four?  In any case, they were invited to declare themselves next.  Only three hands were held up.  One incomprehensible man abstained from expressing his sentiments even by a sign.  Is it necessary to say who that man was?  A mysterious change had now presented itself in his appearance, which made him an object of greater interest than ever.  His inexplicable smile had vanished.  He sat immovable, with closed eyes.  Was he meditating profoundly? or was he only asleep?  The quick-witted foreman had long since suspected him of being simply the stupidest person present—­with just cunning enough to conceal his own dullness by holding his tongue.  The jury arrived at no such sensible conclusion.  Impressed by the intense solemnity of his countenance, they believed him to be absorbed in reflections of the utmost importance to the verdict.  After a heated conference among themselves, they decided on inviting the one independent member present—­the member who had taken no part in their proceedings—­to declare his opinion in the plainest possible form.  “Which way does your view of the verdict incline, sir?  Guilty or not guilty?”

The eyes of the silent juryman opened with the slow and solemn dilation of the eyes of an owl.  Placed between the alternatives of declaring himself in one word or in two, his taciturn wisdom chose the shortest form of speech.  “Guilty,” he answered—­and shut his eyes again, as if he had had enough of it already.

An unutterable sense of relief pervaded the meeting.  Enmities were forgotten and friendly looks were exchanged.  With one accord, the jury rose to return to court.  The prisoner’s fate was sealed.  The verdict was Guilty.

2.—­The Sentence.

The low hum of talk among the persons in court ceased when the jury returned to their places.  Curiosity now found its center of attraction in the prisoner’s wife—­who had been present throughout the trial.  The question of the moment was:  How will she bear the interval of delay which precedes the giving of the verdict?

In the popular phrase, Mrs. Westerfield was a showy woman.  Her commanding figure was finely robed in dark colors; her profuse light hair hung over her forehead in little clusters of ringlets; her features, firmly but not delicately shaped, were on a large scale.  No outward betrayal of the wife’s emotion rewarded the public curiosity:  her bold light-gray eyes sustained the general gaze without flinching.  To the surprise of the women present, she had brought her two young children with her to the trial.  The eldest was a pretty little girl of ten years old; the second child (a boy) sat on his mother’s knee.  It was generally observed that Mrs. Westerfield took no notice of her eldest child.  When she whispered a word from time to time, it was always addressed to her son.  She fondled him when he grew restless; but she never looked round to see if the girl at her side was as weary of the proceedings as the boy.