She paled a little at the words.

"Joe," she whispered, "we're in the court. Rhona's waiting for us."

Then he understood.

"And I've been sleeping, and you let me sleep?" He laughed softly.
"What a good soul you are! Rhona! Come, quick!"

They arose, Joe rubbing his eyes, and stepped forward. Myra felt stiff
and sore. Then Joe spoke in a low voice to the gate-keeper, the gate
opened, and they entered in.

X

THE TRIAL

Rhona had spent the evening in the women's cell, which was one of three
in a row. The other two were for men. The window was high up, and a
narrow bench ran around the walls. Sprawled on this were from thirty to
forty women; the air was nauseating, and the place smelled to heaven.
Outside the bars of the door officers lounged in the lighted hall
waiting the signal to fetch their prisoners. Now and then the door
opened, a policeman entered, picked his woman, seized upon her, and
pulled her along without speaking to her. It was as if the prisoners
were dumb wild beasts.

For a while Rhona sat almost doubled up, feeling that she would never
get warm. Her body would be still a minute, and then a racking spasm
took her and her teeth chattered. A purple-faced woman beside her leaned
forward.

"Bad business on the street a night like this, ain't it? Here, I'll rub
your hands."

Rhona smiled bitterly, and felt the rub of roughened palms against her
icy hands. Then she began to look around, sick with the smell, the
sudden nauseous warmth. She saw the strange rouged faces, the impudent
eyes, the showy headgear, flashing out among the obscure faces of poor
women, and as she looked a filthy drunk began to rave, rose tottering,
and staggered to the door and beat clanging upon it, all the while
shrieking:

"Buy me the dope, boys, buy me the dope!"

Others pulled her back. Women of the street, sitting together, chewed
gum and laughed and talked shrilly, and Rhona could not understand how
prisoners could be so care-free.

All the evening she had been dazed, her one clear thought the sending of
a message for help. But now as she sat in the dim, reeking cell, she
began to realize what had happened.

Then as it burst upon her that she was innocent, that she had been lied
against, that she was helpless, a wild wave of revolt swept her. She
thought she would go insane. She could have thrown a bomb at that
moment. She understood revolutionists.

This feeling was followed by abject fear. She was