in their proceedings--to declare his opinion in the plainest
possible form. "Which way does your view of the verdict incline,
sir? Guilty or not guilty?"

The eyes of the silent juryman opened with the slow and solemn
dilation of the eyes of an owl. Placed between the alternatives
of declaring himself in one word or in two, his taciturn wisdom
chose the shortest form of speech. "Guilty," he answered--and
shut his eyes again, as if he had had enough of it already.

An unutterable sense of relief pervaded the meeting. Enmities
were forgotten and friendly looks were exchanged. With one
accord, the jury rose to return to court. The prisoner's fate was
sealed. The verdict was Guilty.


2.--The Sentence.


The low hum of talk among the persons in court ceased when the
jury returned to their places. Curiosity now found its center of
attraction in the prisoner's wife--who had been present
throughout the trial. The question of the moment was: How will
she bear the interval of delay which precedes the giving of the
verdict?

In the popular phrase, Mrs. Westerfield was a showy woman. Her
commanding figure was finely robed in dark colors; her profuse
light hair hung over her forehead in little clusters of ringlets;
her features, firmly but not delicately shaped, were on a large