When Calton sat down a subdued murmur of applause was heard, which was instantly suppressed, and the judge began to sum up, strongly in favour of Fitzgerald.  The jury then retired, and immediately there was a dead silence in the crowded Court—­an unnatural silence, such as must have fallen on the blood-loving Roman populace when they saw the Christian martyrs kneeling on the hot yellow sands of the arena, and watched the long, lithe forms of lion and panther creeping steadily towards their prey.  The hour being late the gas had been lighted, and there was a sickly glare through the wide hall.

Fitzgerald had been taken out of court on the retiring of the jury, but the spectators stared steadily at the empty dock, which seemed to enchain them by some indescribable fascination.  They conversed among themselves only in whispers, until even the whispering ceased, and nothing could be heard but the steady ticking of the clock, and now and then the quick-drawn breath of some timid on-looker.  Suddenly, a woman, whose nerves were over-strung, shrieked, and the cry rang weirdly through the crowded hall.  She was taken out, and again there was silence, every eye being now fixed on the door through which the jury would re-issue with their verdict of life or death.  The hands of the clock moved slowly round—­a quarter—­a half—­three quarters—­and then the hour sounded with a silvery ring which startled everyone.  Madge, sitting with her hands tightly clasped together, began to fear that her highly-strung nerves would give way.

“My God,” she muttered softly to herself; “will this suspense never end?”

Just then the door opened, and the jury re-entered.  The prisoner was again placed in the dock, and the judge resumed his seat, this time with the black cap in his pocket, as everyone guessed.

The usual formalities were gone through, and when the foreman of the jury stood up every neck was craned forward, and every ear was on the alert to catch the words that fell from his lips.  The prisoner flushed a little and then grew pale as death, giving a quick, nervous glance at the quiet figure in black, of which he could just catch a glimpse.  Then came the verdict, sharp and decisive, “Not guilty.”

On hearing this a cheer went up from everyone in the court, so strong was the sympathy with Brian.

In vain the crier of the Court yelled, “Order!” until he was red in the face.  In vain the judge threatened to commit all present for contempt of court—­his voice being inaudible, it did not matter much—­the enthusiasm could not be restrained, and it was five minutes before order was obtained.  The judge, having recovered his composure, delivered his judgment, and discharged the prisoner, in accordance with the verdict.

Calton had won many cases, but it is questionable if he had ever heard a verdict which gave him so much satisfaction as that which proclaimed Fitzgerald innocent.