How long Mr. Wolverton talked, she never knew; but the lull that succeeded was broken by the tones of Judge Parkman.

“Beryl Brentano, it is my duty to remind you that this is the last opportunity the law allows you, to speak in your own vindication.  The testimony has all been presented to those appointed to decide upon its value.  If there be any final statement that you may desire to offer in self-defence, you must make it now.”

Could the hundreds who watched and waited ever forget the sight of that superb, erect figure, that exquisite face, proud as Hypatia’s, patient as Perpetua’s; or the sound of that pathetic, unwavering voice?  Mournfully, yet steadily, she raised her great grey eyes, darkened by the violet shadows suffering had cast, and looked at her judges.

“I am guiltless of any and all crime.  I have neither robbed, nor murdered; and I am neither principal, nor accomplice in the horrible sin imputed to me.  I know nothing of the chloroform; I never touched the andiron; I never saw Gen’l Darrington but once.  He gave me the gold and the sapphires, and I am as innocent of his death, and of the destruction of his will as the sinless little children who prattle at your firesides and nestle to sleep in your arms.  My life has been disgraced and ruined by no act of mine, for I have kept my hands, my heart, my soul, as pure and free from crime as they were when God gave them to me.  I am the helpless prey of suspicion, and the guiltless victim of the law.  O, my judges!  I do not crave your mercy—­that is the despairing prayer of conscious guilt; I demand at your hands, justice.”

The rushing sound as of a coming flood filled her ears, and her words echoed vaguely from some immeasurably distant height.  The gaslights seemed whirling in a Walpurgis maze, as she sat down and once more veiled her face in her hands.

When she recovered sufficiently to listen, Mr. Churchill had risen for the closing speech of the prosecution.

“Gentlemen of the Jury:  I were a blot upon a noble profession, a disgrace to honorable manhood, and a monster in my own estimation, if I could approach the fatal Finis of this melancholy trial, without painful emotions of profound regret, that the solemn responsibility of my official position makes me the reluctant bearer of the last stern message uttered by retributive justice.  How infinitely more enviable the duty of the Amicus Curiae, my gallant friend and quondam colleague, who in voluntary defence has so ingeniously, eloquently and nobly led a forlorn hope, that he knew was already irretrievably lost?  Desperate, indeed, must he deem that cause for which he battles so valiantly, when dire extremity goads him to lift a rebellious and unfilial voice against the provisions of his foster-mother, Criminal Jurisprudence, in whose service he won the brilliant distinction and crown of laurel that excite the admiration and envy of a large family of his less fortunate foster-brothers.