he usual time for adjournment, and
after the constant strain which has been put upon our nerves for
the past six days, I feel that none of us, including yourself, your
honor, are in a sufficiently receptive mood to listen to the
testimony which the proponent has to offer. In addition to this
is the fact that our most important witness is not present this
afternoon. I would therefore ask for an adjournment to be taken
until ten o'clock next Monday morning, at which time I will
guarantee your honor and the gentlemen of the jury that the
intricate and elaborate web of fine-spun theories which has been
presented will be swept away in fewer hours than the days which
have been required for its construction."

There was an attempt at applause, which was speedily checked, and
without further delay the court adjourned.

As judge, jury, and counsel took their respective places on the
following Monday at the hour appointed, the scene presented by the
old court-room was one never before witnessed in its history.
Every available inch of standing room, both on the main floor and
in the galleries, was taken; throngs were congregated about the
doorways, those in the rear standing on chairs and benches that
they might obtain a view over the heads of their more fortunate
neighbors, while even the recesses formed by the enormous windows
were packed with humanity, two rows deep, the outer row embracing
the inner one in its desperate efforts to maintain its equilibrium.

The opposing sides presented a marked contrast in their appearance
that morning. Ralph Mainwaring betrayed a nervous excitement very
unusual in one of his phlegmatic temperament; his face alternately
flushed and paled, and though much of the old defiant bravado
remained, yet he awaited the opening of proceedings with visible
impatience. Nor was Mr. Whitney less excited, his manner revealing
both agitation and anxiety. On the part of Harold Mainwaring and
his counsel, however, there was no agitation, no haste; every
movement was characterized by composure and deliberation, yet
something in their bearing--something subtle and indefinable but
nevertheless irresistible--impressed the sensibilities of the vast
audience much as the oppressive calm which precedes an electric
storm. All felt that some great crisis was at hand, and it was
amid almost breathless silence that Mr. Sutherland arose to make
his opening statement.

"Gentlemen of the jury," he began, and the sl