And yet--who can tell?
"My lord and gentlemen of the jury, the tale is told. Justice has been
done an innocent man, and the rest of its doing lies in your capable
hands. I ask your permission to be seated."
His voice trailed off into silence, and across the court a murmur arose,
like the hum of some giant airplane growing gradually nearer and nearer.
A sort of strangled sob came from the back of Cleek's chair, and he
turned his head to smile into 'Toinette's wet eyes. In their depths
gratitude and sorrow were inexplicably mingled. His hand went out to her;
she ran toward him from her place, and in spite of judge and jury, in
spite of the order of the law, knelt down there at his side and pressed
her warm lips against his hand.
CHAPTER XXVIII
"TOWARD MORNING...."
The flower in Cleek's buttonhole was jauntily erect, his immaculately
garbed figure fitted in perfectly with every detail of the whole scene
of which he was a part. He looked--and was--the exquisitely turned-out
man-about-town. Only his eyes told of other things, and they, as the
organs welled to the sounds of the wedding march lighted up with
something that spoke of the man within rather than the man without.
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