"If they do acquit her," whispered one of these wiseacres to another,
"she will make her fortune on the stage!"

Meanwhile the judge was dealing at the last with the prisoner's evidence
in her own behalf, and that mercifully enough, though with less
reticence than had characterized the earlier portions of his address. He
did not think it possible or even desirable to forget that this was the
evidence of a woman upon trial for her life. It must not be discredited
on that account. But it was for the jury to bear in mind that the story
was one which admitted of no corroboration, save in unimportant details.
More than that he would not say. It was for them to judge of that story
as they had heard it for themselves, on its own merits, but also in
relation to the other evidence. If the jury believed it, there was an
end of the case. If they had any reasonable doubt at all, the prisoner
was entitled to the full benefit of that doubt, and they must acquit
her. If, on the other hand, the facts taken together before and after
the murder brought the jury to the conclusion that it was none other
than the prisoner who had committed the murder--though, of course, no
one was present to see the act committed--they must, in duty to their
oaths, find her guilty.

During the judge's address the short November day had turned from
afternoon to night, and a great change had come over the aspect of the
dim and dingy court. Opaque globes turned into flaring suns;
incandescent burners revealed unsuspected brackets; the place was warmed
and lighted for the first time during the week. And the effect of the
light and warmth was on all the faces that rose as one while the judge
sidled from the bench, and the jury filed out of their box, and the
prisoner disappeared down the dock stairs for the last time in ignorance