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So
runs
the
inquiry
around
,
and
the
whispered
reflections
that
follow
it
.
There
is
not
much
time
allowed
them
for
speculation
.
They
have
their
answer
in
the
crier
's
voice
,
heard
pronouncing
the
name
--
"
Louise
Poindexter
!
"
Calhoun
has
kept
his
word
.
Before
the
monotonous
summons
has
been
three
times
repeated
,
the
lady
is
seen
descending
the
steps
of
her
carriage
.
Conducted
by
an
officer
of
the
Court
,
she
takes
her
stand
on
the
spot
set
apart
for
the
witnesses
.
Without
flinching
--
apparently
without
fear
--
she
faces
towards
the
Court
.
All
eyes
are
upon
her
:
some
interrogatively
;
a
few
,
perhaps
,
in
scorn
:
but
many
in
admiration
--
that
secret
approval
which
female
loveliness
exacts
,
even
when
allied
with
guilt
!
One
regards
her
with
an
expression
different
from
the
rest
:
a
look
of
tenderest
passion
,
dashed
with
an
almost
imperceptible
distrust
.
It
is
the
prisoner
himself
.
From
him
her
eyes
are
averted
as
from
everybody
else
.
