His cross-examination was concluded one dull February day, and there came a brief halt in the rapid progress of the trial; the jury was sent from the room while Moxlow and Belknap prepared instructions and submitted them to the court.

The judge listened wearily, his sunken cheek resting against the palm of his thin hand, and his gaze fixed on vacancy; when he spoke his voice was scarcely audible.
Once he paused in the middle of a sentence as his glance fell on the heavy upturned face of his son, for he saw fear and entreaty written on the close-drawn lips and in the bloodshot eyes.
A little later in the twilight North, with the sheriff at his elbow, walked down the long corridor on his way to the jail.

The end was close at hand, a day or two more and his fate would be decided.

The hopelessness of the situation appalled him, stupified him.

The evidence of his guilt seemed overwhelming; he wondered how Elizabeth retained her faith in him.