He knew the real jury.

The shuffling and whispers were his confirmation.
"Yo' Honah," began the accusing voice again, "I see him now.

I see this prisoner, this murderer, the central figger of that wild an' awful scene.

He falls upon his knees, he wrings his hands, he supplicates high Heaven--that infinite Powah which gave life to each of us as the one most precious gift--he beseeches Providence to breathe back again into that cold clay the divine spark of which his red hand had robbed it.

Useless, useless! The dead can not arise.