knew what this man would do save the silent invisible man within his soul.
Over the solemn trembling silence the voice of the Chief Justice rang:
"Senator Ross, how say you? Is the respondent, Andrew Johnson, guilty or not guilty of a high misdemeanor as charged in this article?"
The great Judge bent forward; his brow furrowed as Ross arose.
His fellow Senators watched him spellbound. A thousand men and women, hanging from the galleries, focused their eyes on him. Old Stoneman drew his bristling brows down, watching him like an adder ready to strike, his lower lip protruding, his jaws clinched as a vice, his hands fumbling the arms of his chair.
Every breath is held, every ear strained, as the answer falls from the sturdy Scotchman like the peal of a trumpet:
"Not Guilty!"
The crowd breathes—a pause, a murmur, the shuffle of a thousand feet
The President is acquitted, and the Republic lives!
The House assembled and received the report of the verdict. Old Stoneman pulled himself half erect, holding to his desk, addressed the Speaker, introduced his second bill for the impeachment of the President, and fell fainting in the arms of his black attendants.
