"None in the least; there cannot be, you know. It is impossible, utterly impossible, there can be an instant's doubt about her acquittal. The trial, therefore, will be nothing but a serious farce; but it is the infernal injustice, begging your reverence's pardon, of making Sibyl Campbell a principal actor in it, to stand before the gaze of hundreds in the prisoner's dock, that is so inhuman. Oh, there does not, there cannot exist a human being on the face of the earth, so lost to reason as to believe she could be guilty of such a crime."
"On what day next week does the trial take place?" asked Mr. Brantwell.
"It opens next Tuesday, I believe. And Mrs. Brantwell, I have heard that you are to be subp[oe]naed as a witness."
"Oh, I would have gone in any case," said Mrs. Brantwell, faintly. "My poor Sibyl!" and with another burst of tears her head fell on the table again.
"Really, Mrs. Brantwell, you will make yourself ill by this foolish indulgence of grief," said her husband, uneasily.
"And there is no real necessity for it," said Stafford, feeling it his duty to say something consoling. "Sibyl will most certainly be acquitted."
"Oh, don't talk to me, either of you," said Mrs. Brantwell, petulantly. "You are men, and can't understand how this will darken all Sibyl's future life. I feel, I know she will never recover from it."
There was an embarrassing pause, and then Mr. Brantwell said:
"I will go to Westport the day before the trial comes on, and stay there until Sibyl is discharged, poor girl! I suppose she and Mr. Drummond will immediately sail for Europe until this unhappy affair is forgotten."
"Most likely. And now I must bid you both good-morning!"