Paul Ralston by Mary Jane Holmes

It was a kind Providence which kept Paul in his numb and dazed condition and made him eat the supper Mrs. Stevens brought him with a keen relish, and afterwards wrapped him in a sleep so profound that he did not waken until the jailer knocked at his door and told him his breakfast was waiting. He had fallen asleep the moment his head touched the pillow, his last thought a confused one of the man they were trying and in whose fate he was interested. He was not that man when he went to sleep; he was Paul Ralston, the people's favorite,-Clarice Percy's affianced husband, and, if he dreamed at all, it was of the bridal festivities, commenced on so gigantic a scale. When he awoke, refreshed by his long sleep, the pain was gone from his head, leaving him only a little dizzy, but with full knowledge of what lay before him and who he was.

He was Paul Ralston still, but a prisoner charged with killing Jack Percy,-the man they had sworn against the day before, and against whom Elithe was to swear to-day. His breakfast went away untouched, and his stoop was more perceptible, his eyes more hollow, and his face whiter when he was driven again through the crowded streets and saw the people hurrying to the Court House, some with lunch-boxes and baskets, showing that they meant to sit through the recess and not run the risk of losing their seats if they were so fortunate as to get one.