a motion near the door of
the jury-room.

Sybil's weary head still rested on her husband's bosom; he gathered her
in a closer embrace, that she might not look up until she should be
compelled to do so.

She was too inexperienced to know what that little stir that moved the
stillness meant.

The door of the jury-room was thrown open by the deputy-sheriff, and the
jury filed into the court, and stood in a group near the bench.

All hearts stood still. The face of the venerable judge turned a shade
paler.

The clerk of arraigns arose, and addressing the jury, inquired:

"Gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon your verdict?"

"We have," solemnly answered the foreman, on the part of his colleagues.

"Prisoner, stand up and look upon the jury," proceeded the clerk,
addressing Sybil.

"Rise, my darling, rise!" said the heart-broken husband of the lady, as
he helped her to her feet.

Sybil stood up, still leaning on his arm.

"Look on those men there!" whispered Lyon Berners.

"Where? Where?" inquired Sybil, in perplexity, for the court-room was
but dimly lighted, and her brain was half dazed with horror.

"There, my darling, there!" muttered Lyon Berners, pointing to the jury.

"Prisoner, look upon the jury!" repeated the clerk.

Sybil turned her glazing eyes towards the group.

"Jurymen, look upon the prisoner!" continued the clerk.

They looked, and some among them must have seen that the doom they were
about to pronounce in verdict could never be carried into effect.

The clerk proceeded.

"How say you, gentlemen of the jury; is the prisoner at the bar guilty
or not guilty of the felony laid to her charge?"

CHAPTER XVI.

CONDEMNED.

And in that deep and utter agony,
Though then, than ever, most unfit to die,
I fell upon my knees and prayed for death.--MATURIN.

"Guilty!"

The word tolled like a knell through the air.

Silence like death followed.

Some one passed to the judge a glass of water. His hand shook so that he
spilled it.

Then he arose, trembling so much that he leaned for support on the stand
before him. Yet he did his duty--the last duty he was ever to do on that
bench.

"Prisoner at the bar, stand up."

She was raised to her feet, and supported in the arms of her husband.

"Sybil Berners! What have you to say why sentence of death should not be
pronounced against you?"

Nothing. She had not understood the question. She did not answer it.
There