the
challenge of his honor, the doubt of his sincerity; the rough assaults
of the prosecuting attorney, the palpable unfriendliness of the
people--none of these things ever had drawn from him a tear. But this
simple act of justice on the part of Ollie Chase moved the deep waters
of his soul.

His mother had taken his hand between her rough palms, and was chafing
it, as if to call back its warmth and life. She was not looking at her
son, for her faith had not departed from him for one moment, and would
not have diminished if they had condemned him under the accusation. Her
eyes were on Ollie's face, her lips were murmuring beneath her breath:

"Thank the Lord for His justice and mercy! Thank the Lord, thank the
Lord!"

Ollie had settled in the witness-chair again, in the midst of her
wide-skirted mourning habit, as on that other day. Joe Newbolt prayed in
his heart for the mitigation of public censure, and for strength to
sustain her in her hour of sacrifice.

That Ollie had come forward to save him--unasked, unexpected--was like
the comfort of a cloak against the wintry wind. The public believed that
she was going to "own up" to it now, and to clinch the case against Joe.
Some of them began to make mental calculations on the capacity of the
jail yard, and to lay plans for securing passes to the hanging.

Hammer stepped forward to question the witness, and the prosecuting
attorney sat down, alert and ready to interpose in case things should
start the wrong way. He had lost sight of justice completely, after the
fixed habit of his kind, in his eagerness to advance his own prospects
by securing the conviction of the accused.

Ollie sat facing Judge Maxwell, who had turned in his swivel-chair;
moved out of his bearing of studious concentration, which was his usual
characteristic on the bench.

"Now, Mrs. Chase, tell your story in your own way, and take your own
time for it," said Hammer, kindly patronizing.

"I don't want Joe to suffer for me," she said, letting her sad eyes rest
on him for a moment. "What he kept back wasn't for his own sake. It was
for mine."

"Yes; go on, Mrs. Chase," said Hammer as she hesitated there.

"Joe didn't shoot Isom. That happened just the way he's said. I know all
about it, for I was there. Joe didn't know anything about that money.
I'll tell you about that, too."

"Now, your honor," began the prosecutor complainingly, "it seems to me
that the time and place for evidence of this