He looked
upon the jury--they were all strangers, from distant parts of the
county, drawn by idle curiosity to the scene of trial, and arriving
quite unprejudiced. They were not his "peers," but, on the contrary,
twelve as stolid-looking brothers as ever decided the fate of a
gentleman and scholar. Thence he cast his eyes over the crowd in the
court-room.
There were his parishioners! hoary patriarchs and gray-haired matrons,
stately men and lovely women, who, from week to week, for many years,
had still hung delighted on his discourses, as though his lips had been
touched with fire, and all his words inspired! There they were around
him again! But oh! how different the relations and the circumstances!
There they sat, with stern brows and averted faces, or downcast eyes,
and "lips that scarce their scorn forbore." No eye or lip among them
responded kindly to his searching gaze, and Thurston turned his face
away again; for an instant his soul sunk under the pall of despair that
fell darkening upon it. It was not conviction in the court he thought
of--he would probably be acquitted by the court--but what should acquit
him in public opinion? The evidence that might not be strong enough to
doom him to death would still be sufficient to destroy forever his
position and his usefulness.
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