d.

"Do you see him here in this court?"

The very idea of looking again at that terrible mass of heads and eyes,
all watching me, like some fabulous dragon, brought back the sickening
panic. But, queerly enough, when my eyes did move across them, I saw
only a dark, impersonal blur, and then the one face. It appeared, in
the indefiniteness around it, singularly near and distinct. He was
looking at me with that gentle, sweet expression which my sick fancy
hinted he never showed except when he looked at me. And he was
smiling, reassuringly, as if he were encouraging me to go on; as if he
would have me to understand that no great issues hung upon what I was
going to say, that really what was happening was not so very momentous
after all.

"He is sitting there," I said. "The third from the end of the bench,
next to Mr. Jackson."

Instantly voices of officers rang all about the court, crying, "Order,
order!" though there had been no sound, only a great stir, which seemed
to pass across the crowd, and which the next moment might have become
articulate. I sat trembling, wondering what it all meant, clasping my
hands tightly in my lap. All the back of the hall was crowded with
men, and most of these looked like street-loungers, unshaven and rough.
They stood so close together they hid the door, and seemed to sway and
press forward upon the room; and I thought, "There are a great many
Mexicans in here."

Mr. Dingley asked me more questions--if I had heard voices quarreling,
and I had not; which side of the street had been in sunshine, and what
color dress I had worn. I told him, thinking that this was nonsense
again. And then Mr. Jackson said something to the judge, Mr. Dingley
sat down, and Mr. Jackson leaned on the railing, making me think of a
figure on the stage, and asked me why had I gone out at that early hour
of the morning, what had been my business, how had it happened that I
was walking through such a street as Dupont, and how did I suppose the
doors of the saloon had happened to be open so early? It was all in
such a tone as made my cheeks burn with a sense of shame and
indignation, though I could not see what he was getting at. Then
suddenly he veered and demanded how could I tell that the handle of the
revolver had been mother-of-pearl when it had fallen on the shady side
of the street, how large was it exactly, how had Johnny Montgomery held
it, how had he thrown it, then--quickly leaning toward m