A wan smile flitted over Ada's face.
"Oh! who should know its power better than myself?" she said. Then she resumed. "But this man, this grey-headed murderer—has he this power?—can he control money enough to screen the blood he has shed?"
"He is miserably poor!"
"Then the trial will be an unprejudiced one. If proven guilty he must atone for the guilt. If acquitted fairly, openly, without the aid of money or influence, then are we guilty, Jacob Strong, guilty as those who hurl a man to the brink of a precipice, which he is sure to plunge down."
"No man who simply pursues his duty should reproach himself for the crime of another," was the grave reply.
"But have I done my duty? Can I be guiltless of my husband's desperate act?"
Jacob was silent.
"You cannot answer me, my friend," said Ada mournfully.
"Yes! I can. William Leicester's death, if he in fact fell by his own hand, was the natural end of a vicious life."
Ada waved her hand sharply, thus forbidding him to proceed with the subject, and entering her dressing-room, closed the door.