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Eye of Dread

<h2>CHAPTER XXXIX</h2> <h3>RECONCILIATION</h3></div> Milton Hibbard arose and began his argument to the jury. It was a clear and forcible presentation of the case from his standpoint as counsel for the State. After recapitulating all the testimony that had been brought out during the course of the trial, he closed with an earnest appeal for the State against the defendant, showing conclusively that he believed the prisoner guilty. The changing expressions on the faces of the jury and among his audience showed that he was carrying them largely with him. Before he began speaking, Richard again started forward, but still Larry held him back. “Let be, son. Stand by and watch the old man yonder. Hear what they have to say against Peter Junior. I want to know what they have in their hearts.” The strong dramatic appeal which the situation held for Larry was communicated through him to Richard also, and again he waited, and Milton Hibbard continued his oratory. “After all, the evidence against the prisoner still stands uncontradicted. You may see that to be able to sway you as he has, to be able to stand here and make his most touching and dramatic plea directly in the face of conclusive evidence, to dare to speak thus, proves the man to be a most consummate actor. Your Honor and Gentlemen of the Jury, nothing has ever been said against the 488 intellect or facile ability of the prisoner. The glimpses we have been shown of his boyhood, even, prove his skill in carrying a part and holding a power over his comrades, and here we have the talent developed in the man. “He is too wise to try to deny the statements made by the witnesses of the State, but from the moment Miss Ballard was allowed to see him alone in the jail, he has been able to carry the young lady with him. We do not bring any accusation against the young lady. No doubt she thinks him what he claims to be. No doubt he succeeded in persuading her he is her former fiancé, knowing well that he saw her and talked with her before he fled, believing that her innocent acceptance of his story as the true explanation of his reappearance here and now will place him securely in the home of the man he claims is his father. That she saw Richard Kildene and knows him to be living is his reason for reappearing here and trying this most daring plea. “Is the true Peter Craigmile, Jr., dead? Then he can never arise to take the place this young man is now daring to usurp. Can Richard Kildene be proved to be living? Then is he, posing as Peter Craigmile, Jr., free from the charge of murder even if he makes confession thereto. He returns and makes this plea because he would live the life of a free man and not that of an outcast. He has himself told you why. “Now, as for the proofs that he is Richard Kildene, you have heard them––and know them to be unanswered. He has not the marks of Elder Craigmile’s son. You have seen how the man he claims is his father refuses to even look upon him. Could a father be so deceived as not to 489 know his own son? When Peter Craigmile, Jr., disappeared he was lame and feeble. This man returns,––strong and walking as well as one who never received a wound. Why, gentlemen, he stepped up here like a soldier––erect as a man who is sound in every limb. In that his subtlety has failed him. He forgot to act the part. But this forgetfulness only goes to further prove the point in hand. He was so sure of success that he forgot to act the part of the man he pretends to be. “He has forgotten to tell the court how he came by that scar above his temple,––yet he makes the statement that he himself inflicted such a wound on the head of Richard Kildene––the omission is remarkable in so clever an actor. Miss Ballard also admits having bound up that wound on the head of Richard Kildene,––but still she claims that this man is her former fiancé, Peter Craigmile, Jr. Gentlemen of the Jury, is it possible that you can retire from this court room and not consider carefully this point? Is it not plainly to be seen that the prisoner thought to return and take the place of the man he has slain, and through the testimony of the young lady prove himself free from the thing of which he accuses himself in his confession, and so live hereafter the life of a free man without stain––and at last to marry the young girl he has loved, of whom he robbed his cousin, and for whom he killed him, and counting on the undeniable resemblance to that cousin, as proved in this court, to deceive not only the young lady herself––but also this whole community––thus making capital out of that resemblance to his own advantage and––” “Never! Never!” cried a voice from the far corner of 490 the court room. Instantly there was a stir all over. The Elder jumped up and frowned toward the place from whence the interruption came, and Milton Hibbard lifted his voice and tried to drown the uproar that rose and filled the room, but not one word he uttered could be heard. Order was called, and the stillness which ensued seemed ominous. Some one was elbowing his way forward, and as he passed through the crowd the uproar began again. Every one was on his feet, and although the prisoner stood and gazed toward the source of commotion he could not see the man who spoke. He looked across to the place where Betty Ballard had been sitting between her father and mother, and there he saw her standing on a chair, forgetful of the throng around her and of all the eyes that had been fixed upon her during her testimony in cold criticism, a wonderful, transfiguring light in her great gray eyes, and her arms stretched out toward some one in the surging crowd who was drawing nearer to the prisoner’s box. Her lips were moving. She was repeating a name over and over. He knew the name she was repeating soundlessly, with quivering lips, and his heart gave a great bound and then stopped beating, and he fell upon his knees and bowed his head on his hands as they clung to the railing in front of him. Amalia, watching them all, with throbbing pulses and luminous eyes, saw and understood, and her spirit was filled with a great thankfulness which she could not voice, but which lifted her, serene and still, above every one there. Now she looked only at Peter Junior. Then a tremor crept over her, and, turning, she clasped Larry’s arm with shaking hands. <div>491</div> “Let me that I lean a little upon you or I fall down. How this is beautiful!” Larry put his arm about her and held her to him, supporting her gently. “It’s all coming right, you see.” “Yes. But, how it is terrible for the old man! It is as if the lightning had fallen on him.” Larry glanced at his brother-in-law and then looked away. After all his desire to see him humbled, he felt a sense of shame in watching the old man’s abject humility and remorse. Thereafter he kept his eyes fixed on his son, as he struggled with the throng packed closely around him and shouting now his name. Suddenly, when he could no longer progress, Richard felt himself lifted off his feet, and there, borne on the shoulders of the men,––as he had so shortly before been borne in triumph through the streets of Paris,––he was carried forward, this time by men who had tramped in the same column of infantry with him. Gladly now they held him aloft and shouted his name, and the people roared it back to them as they made way, and he was set down, as he directed, in the box beside the prisoner. Had the Judge then tried to restore order it would have been futile. He did not try. He stood smiling, with his hand on the old Elder’s shoulder. Then, while the people cheered and stamped and shouted the names of the two young men, and while women wept and turned to each other, clasping hands and laughing through tears, Milton Hibbard stooped and spoke in the Elder’s ear. “I throw up the case, man, and rejoice with you and the whole town. Go down there and take back your son.” “The Lord has visited me heavily for the wicked pride 492 of my heart. I have no right to joy in my son’s return. He should cast me off.” The old man sat there, shriveled and weary––gazing straight before him, and seeing only his own foolish prejudice, like a Giant Despair, looming over him. But fortunately for him, no one saw him or noticed him but the two at his side, for all eyes were fixed on the young men, as they stood facing each other and gazed in each other’s eyes. It was a moment of breathless suspense throughout the court room, as if the crowd by one impulse were waiting to hear the young man speak, and the Judge seized the opportunity to again call for order. When order had been secured, the prisoner’s counsel rose and said: “If your Honor please, I ask leave to have the proofs opened, and to be permitted to call another witness.” The Judge replied: “I have no doubt the District Attorney will consent to this request. You may call your witness.” “Richard Kildene!” rang out the triumphant voice of Nathan Goodbody, and Richard stepped into the witness box and was sworn. The natural eloquence with which he had been endowed was increased tenfold by his intense earnestness as he stood, turning now to the Judge and now to the jury, and told his story. The great audience, watching him and listening breathlessly, perceived the differences between the two men, a strong individuality in each causing such diversity of character that the words of Betty Ballard, which had so irritated the counsel, and which seemed so childish, now appealed to them as the truest wisdom––the wisdom of the “Child” who “shall lead them.” <div>493</div> “It is not the same head and it is not the same scar. It is not by their legs or their scars we know people, it is by themselves––by their souls.” Betty was vindicated. Poignantly, intently, the audience felt as he wished them to feel the truth of his words, as he described the eternal vigilance of a man’s own soul when he has a crime to expiate, and when he concluded by saying: “It is the Eye of Dread that sees into the hidden recesses of the heart,––to the uttermost end of life,––that follows the sinner even into his grave, until he yields to the demands of righteousness and accepts the terms of absolute truth,” he carried them all with him, and again the tumult broke loose, and they shouted and laughed and wept and congratulated each other. The Judge himself sat stiffly in his seat, his chin quivering with an emotion he was making a desperate effort to conceal. Finally he turned and nodded to the sheriff, who rapped loudly for order. In a moment the room was silent, every one eager to hear what was to be the next step in the legal drama. “Gentlemen of the Jury,” said the Judge, “Notwithstanding what has occurred, it becomes our duty to proceed to an orderly determination of this case. If you believe the testimony of the last witness, then, of course, the crime charged has not been committed, the respondent is not guilty, and he is entitled to your verdict. You may, if you choose, consult together where you are, and if you agree upon a verdict, the court will receive it. If you prefer to retire to consider your verdict, you may do so.” The foreman of the jury then wrote the words, “Not guilty” on a piece of paper, and writing his name under it, passed it to the others. Each juror quickly signed his 494 name under that of the foreman, and when it was returned to him, he arose and said: “The jury finds the accused not guilty.” Then for the first time every one looked at the Elder. He was seated bowed over his clasped hands, as if he were praying, as indeed he was, a fervent prayer for forgiveness. Very quietly the people left the court room, filled with a reverent awe by the sight of the old man’s face. It was as if he had suddenly died to the world while still sitting there before them. But at the door they gathered and waited. Larry Kildene waited with them until he spied Mary Ballard and Bertrand, with Betty, leaving, when he followed them and gave Amalia into their charge. It was a swift and glad meeting between Larry and his old friends, and a hurried explanation. “I’m coming to tell you the whole, soon, but meantime I’ve brought this lovely young lady for you to care for. Go with them, Amalia, and tell them all about yourself, for they will be father and mother and sister to you. I’ve found my son––I’ve a world to tell you, but now I must hurry back and comfort my brother-in-law a bit.” He took Mary’s hand in his and held it a moment, then Bertrand’s, and then he relieved the situation by taking Betty’s and looking into her eyes, which looked tearfully back at him. Stooping, as if irresistibly drawn to her, he touched her fingers with his lips, and then lightly her hair. It was done with the grace of an old courtier, and he was gone, disappearing in the courthouse. For a good while the crowd waited around the doors, neighbor visiting with neighbor and recounting the events of the trial that had most impressed them, and telling one 495 and another how they had all along felt that the young prisoner was no other than Peter Junior, and laying all the blame on the Elder’s reckless offer of so large a reward. Nels Nelson crept sulkily back to the stable, and G. B. Stiles returned to the hotel and packed his great valise and was taken to the station in the omnibus by Nels Nelson. As they parted, G. B. Stiles asked for the paper he had given the Swede. “It’s no good to you or any one now, you know. You’re out nothing. I’m the only one that’s out––all I’ve spent––” “Yas, bot I got heem. You not––all ofer de vorl. Dey vas bot’ coom back, dot’s all,” and so they parted. Every one was glad and rejoiced over the return of the young men, with a sense of relief that resulted in hilarity, and no one would leave until he had had a chance to grasp the hands of the “boys.” The men of the jury lingered with the rest, all eager to convince their friends that they would never have found the prisoner guilty of the charge against him, and at the same time chaffing each other about their discussions, and the way in which one and another had been caught by the evidence and Peter’s changed appearance. At last the doors of the courthouse opened, and the Judge, and Milton Hibbard, Peter Junior, his father, and the lawyers, and Larry and Richard walked out in a group, when shouting and cheering began anew. Before descending the steps, the Elder, with bared head, stepped forward and stood regarding the people in silence, and the noise of shouting and cheering stopped as suddenly as it began. The devout old man stood erect, but his words came to them brokenly. <div>496</div> “My friends and my neighbors, as you all know, I have this day been saved––from committing, in my blindness and my stubbornness, a great crime,––for which the Lord be thanked. Unworthy as I am, this day my son has been restored to me, fine and strong, for which the Lord be thanked. And here, the young man brought up as a brother to him, is again among you who have always loved him,”––he turned and took Richard by the hand, and waited a moment; then, getting control of himself, once more continued––“for which again, I say, the Lord be thanked. “And now let me present to you one whom many of you know already, who has returned to us after many years––one whom in the past I have greatly wronged. Let me here and now make confession before you all, and present him to you as a man––” He turned and placed his hand on Larry’s shoulder. “Let me present him to you as a man who can forgive an enemy––even so far as to allow that man who was his enemy to claim him forevermore as––as––brother––and friend,––Larry Kildene!” Again cheers burst forth and again were held back as the Elder continued. “Neighbors––he has sent us back my son. He has saved me––more than me––from ruin and disaster, in these days when ruin is abroad in the land. How he has done it you will soon learn, for I ask you all to come round to my house this night and––partake of––of––a little collation to be prepared by Mr. Decker and sent in for this occasion.” The old man’s voice grew stronger as he proceeded, “Just to welcome home these boys of ours––our young men––and this man––generous and––” “You’ve not been the only one to blame.” Larry stepped 497 forward and seized the Elder’s hand, “I take my share of the sorrow––but it is past. We’re friends––all of us––and we’ll go all around to Elder Craigmile’s house this night, and help him give thanks by partaking of his bounty––and now––will ye lift your voices and give a cheer for Elder Craigmile, a man who has stood in this community for all that is excellent, for uprightness and advancement, for honor and purity, a man respected, admired, and true––who has stood for the good of his fellows in this town of Leauvite for fifty years.” Larry Kildene lifted his hand above his head and smiled a smile that would have drawn cheers from the very paving stones. And the cheers came, heartily and strongly, as the four men, rugged and strong, the gray-haired and the brown-haired, passed through the crowd and across the town square and up the main street, and on to the Elder’s home. Ere an hour had passed all was quiet, and the small town of Leauvite had taken up the even tenor of its way. After a little time, Larry Kildene and Richard left the Elder and his son by themselves and strolled away from the town on the familiar road toward the river. They talked quietly and happily of things nearest their hearts, as they had need to do, until they came to a certain fork of the road, when Larry paused, standing a moment with his arm across his son’s shoulder. “I’ll go on a piece by myself, Richard. I’m thinking you’ll be wanting to make a little visit.” Richard’s eyes danced. “Come with me, father, come. There’ll be others there for you to talk with––who’ll be glad to have you there, and––” <div>498</div> “Go to, go to! I know the ways of a man’s heart as well as the next.” “I’ll warrant you do, father!” and Richard bounded away, taking the path he had so often trod in his boyhood. Larry stood and looked after him a moment. He was pleased to hear how readily the word, father, fell from the young man’s lips. Yes, Richard was facile and ready. He was his own son. <hr class='toprule' /> <div class='chsp'> 499 <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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