the faces about him, declined to weaken the effect of the last
admission, by any further questions. Settling, therefore, comfortably
back, he left the field open for any other juror who might choose to
press the inquiry. But no one seeming to be ready to do this, Thomas in
his turn evinced impatience, and at last, looking respectfully around,
inquired:

"Would any other gentleman like to ask me anything?"

No one replying, he threw a hurried glance of relief towards the
servants at his side, then, while each one marvelled at the sudden
change that had taken place in his countenance, withdrew with an eager
alacrity and evident satisfaction for which I could not at the moment
account.

But the next witness proving to be none other than my acquaintance of
the morning, Mr. Harwell, I soon forgot both Thomas and the doubts his
last movement had awakened, in the interest which the examination of
so important a person as the secretary and right-hand man of Mr.
Leavenworth was likely to create.

Advancing with the calm and determined air of one who realized that life
and death itself might hang upon his words, Mr. Harwell took his stand
before the jury with a degree of dignity not only highly prepossessing
in itself, but to me, who had not been over and above pleased with him
in our first interview, admirable and surprising. Lacking, as I
have said, any distinctive quality of face or form agreeable or
otherwise--being what you might call in appearance a negative sort of
person, his pale, regular features, dark, well-smoothed hair and simple
whiskers, all belonging to a recognized type and very commonplace--there
was still visible, on this occasion at least, a certain self-possession
in his carriage, which went far towards making up for the want of
impressiveness in his countenance and expression. Not that even this was
in any way remarkable. Indeed, there was nothing remarkable about the
man, any more than there is about a thousand others you meet every day
on Broadway, unless you except the look of concentration and solemnity
which pervaded his whole person; a solemnity which at this time would
not have been noticeable, perhaps, if it had not appeared to be the
habitual expression of one who in his short life had seen more of sorrow
than joy, less of pleasure than care and anxiety.

The coroner, to whom his appearance one way or the other seemed to be a
matter of no moment, addressed him immediately and without reserve: