feelings, his transfigured passions, and the deaths. He
told the story again and again until they seemed satisfied.

"You understand, Mr. Symmes, that you have committed a most heinous
crime. You have killed two people in a passion that, while it used to be
forgiven by the circumstances, is no longer tolerated by this
government. You have killed, Mr. Symmes!"

The face before him was intense. He looked at it, not understanding the
reason for the frozen look of malice and hatred.

"She was mine. When she betrayed me, I killed her. Is that wrong?"

The stick men snorted and poked each other in the ribs with derisive
elbows.

There were more words and more questions. He looked at the face of the
judge and wondered, for a moment, if perhaps the color of the robe was
to match the apparent disposition of the man.

And then came the silence, a time of sitting and waiting. He sensed the
wondering stares of the stick men, wide-eyed in apprehension, suspended
from the drabness of their own lives for the moment by the stark
visitation of tragedy in his. They gabbled among themselves and wagered
on the verdict.

The man next to him leaned over and tapped him on the arm. Everyone
stood up and then, curiously, sat down again almost at once. He felt the
tension present in the courtroom, but was strangely relaxed himself. It
was peculiar that they were all so excited.

"Your Honor, having duly considered the seriousness of the crime and the
evidence presented ..."

The balloon faces on the stick men stretched in anticipation.

"... taking full cognizance of the admitted passion on the part of the
defendant and the circumstances ..."

The balloons were strained, contorted out of all proportion in their
eagerness.

"... we find the defendant guilty of murder, making no recommendation
for consideration by the Court."

The balloons exploded!

* * * * *

Deafening and more than deafening, the uproar of the voices was beyond
belief. He threw his hands up over his ears to shut out the noise.

The gavel crashed again and again, striking the polished oak in deadly
cadence, stifling the voices. Over the stillness, one man spoke. He
recognized the black voice of the judge and took his hands from his ears
and put them in his lap. He was told to stand and he obeyed.

"Oliver Symmes, there has been no taking of human lives in this nation
for many years, until your shockingly primitive crime. We had