His eyes, sunken, yet brilliant with a strange light, shifted from side to side as he glanced over the room.
Marshall Langham had not quitted his seat.

There in his remote corner under the gallery, his blanched face framed by shadows, his father's glance found him.

With his hand resting tremulously on the jamb of the door as if to steady himself, the judge advanced a step.

Once more his eyes strayed in the direction of his son, and from the gloom of that dull corner which Marshall had made his own, despair and terror called aloud to him.

His shaking hand dropped to his side, and then like some pale ghost, he passed slowly before the eager eyes that were following his every movement to his place behind the flat-topped desk on the raised dais.
As he sank into his chair he turned to the clerk of the court and there was a movement of his thin lips, but no sound passed them.