“It is useless to talk to me,” she answered, with anger. “He deserves to die. And it will be a good riddance for you, and for the world. He was stirring the passions of mobs that will yet make work for hangmen.”
“But he is not on trial for this,” she pleaded, “You should be the last to reproach him with it. Think of all the sacrifices for you—his career, his wife and children, his father, his friends. Surely there is yet one spark of love for him in your heart?”
Kate shook her head.
“Then for my sake, I beg of you—you are a woman. You have loved. Have mercy on me! You asked me once for help—did I fail you?”
The blond face softened.
“No, you didn’t. I’m sorry for you. If it were your life, I’d save it if I swore a thousand lies—but for him, the brute—I can feel him strangling me now—you have not felt his hands on your throat.”
“No,” said the soft contralto voice, “not on my throat; it would have been a relief to have felt them there. They were on my soul. But I love him—-”
Kate was relentless, and Ruth left, shivering with anguish and angry pride.
The new trial dragged its length to the second jury. Ruth spent and pledged the last dollar of her fortune.
Once more she heard the foreman, in tones that seemed far off in space, say the fatal word—