to an end.

"If you find that a killing has taken place, but that it is not
manslaughter in either degree, then it is your duty to acquit. If on the
other hand you find the defendant guilty in either degree you must not
consider the penalty which may be imposed. That is the province of the
court; yours is to consider the facts. Such, gentlemen, is the law. The
evidence is before you. You are at liberty to believe or to disbelieve
the testimony of any witness in part or as a whole, according to your
common sense. Weigh the testimony, giving each fact its due proportion;
and then, according to your best judgment, render your verdict."

His Honor was silent. There were a few requests to charge from both
sides, and the jury filed solemnly out. Almost without a pause the next
case was called, the attendant's voice ringing out as before--"The case
of the People against----"

Lydia felt disinclined to move, as if even her bones were made of some
soft dissoluble material. Then she saw that she had no choice. The next
prisoner was waiting for her place--an unshaven, hollow-eyed Italian,
with a stout, gray-clad lawyer who looked like Caruso at his side. As
she left the court she could hear the clerk calling the new jury.

"William Roberts."

"Seat Number One."

Judge Homans flattered himself particularly on the celerity with which
his court moved.

CHAPTER XII

Several of the New York papers the next morning carried editorials
commending the verdict. Lydia sitting up in bed with a breakfast tray on
her knee, read them coolly through.

"The safety of the highways"--"the irresponsibility of the younger
generation, particularly among those of great wealth"--"pity must not
degenerate into sentimentality"--"the equal administration of our
laws----"

So the public was pleased with the verdict, was it? It little knew. She
herself was filled with bitterness. The moment of the delivery of the
verdict had been terrible to her.

She had not minded the hours of waiting. She had felt deadened, without
special interest in what the jury decided. But this had changed the
moment word came that the jury had reached a verdict. There was a
terrible interval while the familiar roll of their names was called for
the last time. Then she was told to stand up and face them, or rather to
face the foreman, Josiah Howell, a bearded man with a lined brown face.
He looked almost tremulously grave.

Lydia set her jaw, looking at him and