charges
and the proof, as a general marshals his forces for battle, and the
crowd, so clear were his words and so strong his statements, could see
them all marching in unison, like the battalions and brigades, towards
the common point, the exposed centre of the enemy. The faces of Sylvia
and Mrs. Grayson, in the box, glowed with pride.

Again and again, at the pauses between sentences, the cheers of the
audience rose and echoed, and then Harley would glance once more towards
the door; there, always, he saw Hobart with the three witnesses,
gathered under his wing, as it were, all looking raptly and intently at
Jimmy Grayson.

The candidate, by-and-by, seemed to concentrate his attention upon the
four men at the door, and spoke directly to them. Harley saw one of the
group move as if about to leave, but the hand of Hobart fell upon his
arm and he stayed. Harley, too, was conscious presently of an unusual
effect having the quality of weirdness. The lights seemed to go down in
the whole opera-house, except near the door. Jimmy Grayson and the
correspondents were in a semi-darkness, but Hobart and his three new
friends beside the door stood in a light that was almost dazzling
through contrast. The three witnesses now seemed to be fixed in that
spot, and their eyes never wandered from Jimmy Grayson's face.

Familiar as he was with the candidate's oratorical powers, Harley was
surprised at his strength of invective that evening. He had proved the
guilt, the overwhelming guilt, of the opposition party, and he was
describing the punishment, a punishment sure to come, although many
might deem it impossible:

"But there would be a day of judgment; justice might sleep for a while,
but she must awake at last, and, the longer vengeance was delayed, the
more terrible it became. Then woe to the guilty."

The audience was deeply impressed by the eloquence of Jimmy Grayson,
coinciding so well with their own views. Harley saw a look of awe appear
upon the faces of many--Sylvia's face was pale--and the house, save for
the voice of Jimmy Grayson, was as still as death. Harley felt the
effect himself, and the weird, unreal quality that he observed before
increased. Once, when he went over to make some notes, he noticed that
the words written a half-hour before were scarcely visible, but, when
he glanced at the opposite end of the theatre, there stood Hobart and
the three witnesses, gathered about him, in the very heart of a dazzling
li