f using his money, now that he had it, rather than himself, he had
posted two sentinels, sharp-eyed boys whom he had himself selected, one
in an upper window of the court-room on the sill, the other outside on
the sloping roof of a one-story building which touched it. The boy in
the window was to keep watch; the boy on the roof was to drop to the
ground at the first signal from the sill, and run. By means of this
human telegraph, its designer under the maples intended to reach the
window himself, through the little house whose door stood open (its
mistress having already been paid for the right of way), in time to hear
and see the whole. This intention was carried out--as his intentions
generally were. The instant the verdict, or rather the want of verdict,
was announced, he left the window, hastened down through the little
house, and crossed the square. The people would be slow in leaving the
court-room, the stairway was narrow, the crowd dense; the square was
empty as he passed through it, went up the steps of the house occupied
by Miss Teller, crossed the balcony, and stopped at the open window.

"Anne?" he said.

A figure stirred within.

"They have disagreed. The case will now go over to the November term,
when there will be a new trial."

He could see that she covered her face with her hands. But she did not
speak.

"It was your testimony that turned the scale," he added.

After a moment, as she still remained silent, "I am going away
to-night," he went on; "that is, unless there is something I can do for
you. Will you tell me your plans?"

"Yes, always," she answered, speaking low from the darkness. "Everything
concerning me you may always know, if you care to know. But so far I
have no plan."

"I leave you with Miss Teller; that is safety. Miss Teller claims the
privilege now of having you with her always."

"I shall not stay long."

"You will write to me?"

"Yes."

People were now entering the square from the other side. The window-sill
was between them; he took her hands, drew her forward from the shadow,
and looked at her in the dim light from the street lamp.

"It is my last look, Anne," he said, sadly.

"It need not be."

"Yes; you have chosen. You are sure that there is nothing more that I
can do?"

"There is one thing."

"What is it?"

"Believe him innocent. Believe it, not for my sake, but for your own."

"If I try, it will be for yours. Good-by."

He left her, and an hour lat