, he is against
the accused, in his statement of facts, as the deductions he draws from
them. For the hunter has long since decided within himself, as to who
killed Clancy.

Heywood follows him in like manner, though with no new matter. His
testimony but corroborates that of his elder confrere.

Taken together, or separately, it makes profound impression on the
jurors of Judge Lynch; almost influencing them to pronounce an instant
verdict, condemnatory of the accused.

If so, it will soon be followed by the sentence; this by execution,
short and quick, but sternly terrible!

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

ADDITIONAL EVIDENCE.

While the Lynchers are still in deliberation, the little clock on the
mantel strikes twelve, midnight; of late, not oft a merry hour in the
cottage of the Clancys; but this night more than ever sad.

Its striking seems the announcement of a crisis. For a time it silences
the voices of those conversing.

Scarce has the last stroke ceased to vibrate on the still night air,
when a voice is heard; one that has not hitherto taken part in the
deliberations. It sounds as though coming up from the road gate.

"Mass Woodley in da?" are the words spoken interrogatively; the question
addressed generally to the group gathered in front of the house. "Yes:
he's here," simultaneously answer several.

"Kin I peak a wud wif you, Mass Woodley?" again asks the inquirer at the
wicket.

"Sartinly," says the hunter, separating from the others, and striding
off towards the entrance.

"I reck'n I know that voice," he adds, on drawing near the gate. "It's
Blue Bill, ain't it?"

"Hush, Mass' Woodley! For Goramity's sake doan peak out ma name. Not
fo' all de worl let dem people hear it. Ef dey do, dis nigger am a dead
man, shoo."

"Darn it, Bill; what's the matter? Why d'ye talk so mysteerous? Is
thar anythin' wrong? Oh! now I think o't, you're out arter time. Never
mind 'bout that; I'll not betray you. Say; what hev ye kim for?"

"Foller me, Mass Woodley; I tell yer all. I dasent tay hya, less some
ob dem folk see me. Les' go little way from de house, into de wood
groun' ober yonner; den I tell you wha fotch me out. Dis nigger hab
someting say to you, someting berry patickler. Yes, Mass Woodley, berry
patickler. 'Tarn a matter ob life an' def."

Sime does not stay to hear more; but, lifting the latch, quietly pushes
open the gate, and passes out into the road. Then following the negro,