of fondness would come over him at times, and then he would pet and cajole the child almost beyond a parent’s prerogative.  But he was capable of striking her too—­had struck her frequently.  And for nothing—­an innocent look; a shrinking movement; a smile when he wasn’t in the mood for smiles.  It was for this Deborah had hated him; and it was for this the mother in her now held him responsible for the doubts which had shadowed their final parting.  Was not the man, who could bring his hand down upon so frail and exquisite a creature as Reuther was in those days, capable of any act of violence?  Yes; but in this case he had been guiltless.  She could not but concede this even while yielding to extreme revulsion as she laid his picture aside.

The next slip she took up contained an eulogy of the victim.

“The sudden death of Algernon Etheridge has been in more than one sense a great shock to the community.  Though a man of passive rather than active qualities, his scholarly figure, long, lean and bowed, has been seen too often in our streets not to be missed, when thus suddenly withdrawn.  His method of living; the rigid habits of an almost ascetic life; such an hour for this thing, such an hour for that—­his smile, which made you soon forget his irascibility and pride of learning; made up a character unique in our town and one that we can ill afford to spare.  The closed doors of the little cottage, so associated with his name that it will be hard to imagine it occupied by any one else, possess a pathos of their own which is felt by young and old alike.  The gate that never would latch, the garden, where at a stated hour in the morning his bowed figure would always be seen hoeing or weeding or raking, the windows without curtains showing the stacks of books within, are eloquent of a presence gone, which can never be duplicated.  Alone on its desolate corner, it seems to mourn the child, the boy, the man who gave it life, and made it, in its simplicity, more noted and more frequently pointed at than any other house in town.

“Why he should have become the target of Fate is one of the mysteries of life.  His watch, which aside from his books was his most valuable possession, was the gift of Judge Ostrander.  That it should be associated in any way with the tragic circumstances of his death is a source of the deepest regret to the unhappy donor.”

This excerpt she hardly looked at; but the following she studied carefully: 

“Judge Ostrander has from the first expressed a strong desire that some associate judge should be called upon to preside over the trial of John Scoville for the murder of Algernon Etheridge.  But Judge Saunders’ sudden illness and Judge Dole’s departure for Europe have put an end to these hopes.  Judge Ostrander will take his seat on the bench as usual next Monday.  Fortunately for the accused, his well-known judicial mind will prevent any unfair treatment of the defence.”