The day grew toward evening, and still the stuffy Court sat.

But Margaret Hogarth did not come; a defending counsel finished
examination, counsel on the other side again addressed the Court,
and again defending counsel. The judge then held the scales, the
jury trooped away, the crowd buzzed.

The light in the room seemed to brood to a denser yellow, and anon
to grow dim; the stuffed court festered; voices spoke, but low. The
King of Terrors was here.

When the jury came, the judge was called, Hogarth stood up, and the
clerk of arraigns put a question to the foreman.

The foreman said: "We find the prisoner guilty: but beg to recommend
him to the mercy of the Crown".

"On what grounds?" asked his lordship.

"On the grounds of past good conduct and strong provocation".

The judge then placed on his head a square of velvet and passed the
sentence of the Court.

During the reign of stillness that followed, while the court clock's
ticking was still loud, something which was thrown struck Hogarth on
the arm, a red rose, black at heart, that had lain on the breast of
Rebekah, who, when Hogarth looked round at her, was calmly drawing
her mass of cloak about her throat.