iring as well as fervently thanking, he
watched the friend in need, the splendid ally, the only agent of
Providence that could have saved him.

Who would not admire such a prince?

He was old and big, and though rather frail, yet so magnificently
grand. His costume was of the plainest character--black satin
neck-scarf tied negligently, with a pearl pin stuck through it anyhow,
a queer sort of black pea-jacket with braid on its edges, square-toed
patent-leather boots with white spats--and, nevertheless, he seemed to
be dressed as sumptuously as if he had been wearing all the gold and
glitter of his Privy Councilor's uniform. His face seemed to Dale like
the mask of a Roman emperor--a high-bridged delicate nose, thin gray
hair combed back from a low forehead, a ridge like a straight bar
above the tired eyes and a puffiness of flesh below them, a moustache
that showed the lose curves of the mouth, and a small pointed beard
that perhaps concealed an unbeautiful protrusion of the chin. His
voice, so calm, so evenly modulated, had been trained in the senate
and the palace. His attitude, his manner, his freedom from gesture
and emphasis, all indicated a born ruler as well as a born aristocrat.
Was it likely that when _he_ spoke he would fail?

Already he had swung the balance. Dale could see that he would not be
resisted. And as the great man sat talking--chatting, one might almost
term it--he seemed to be taking out of the atmosphere every element of
discomfort, all the passionate excitement, the hot throbs of
indignation, the cold tremors of fear. Dale felt his muscles
recovering tone, his legs stiffening themselves, his blood circulating
richly and freely.

"You have here," said Mr. Barradine, "a man of unblemished reputation,
who, acting obviously from conscientious motives, has in the exercise
of his judgment done so and so. Now, admitting for the sake of
argument, that he has done wrong, are you to punish him for an error
of judgment? We do not, however, admit that it was an error."...

Dale looked dogged and stern. He had been on the point of saying, "I
never will admit it;" but the words would not come out. He must not
interrupt. This was Heaven-sent advocacy.

Mr. Barradine went on quietly and grandly. In truth what he said now
was almost what had been said by the authorities at Rodhaven--good
intentions, over-zeal, a mistake, if you care to call it so;--but from
these lips it fell on Dale's ear as soothing mus