The man-made machine was breaking down; its mechanism out of
"gear"; the law that governed it defective. The God-law, the law of
mercy, was being set in motion.
The voice of the Judge trembled a little as he delivered his charge, as
if somehow a stray tear had clogged the passage from his heart to his
lips. In low, earnest tones that every man strained his ear to catch, he
reviewed the testimony of the witnesses, those I had not heard; took up
the uncontradicted statement of the Deputy Marshal as evidenced by the
exhibits before them; passed to the motive behind the alleged
conspiracy; dwelt for a moment on the age and long confinement of the
accused, and ended with the remark that if they believed his story to be
an explanation of the facts, they must acquit him.
They never left their seats. Even the red-faced man voted out of turn in
his eagerness. The God-law had triumphed! The old man was free.
The throng in the court-room rose and made their way to the doors, the
old man going first, escorted by an officer to see him safely outside.
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