alone ... alone.... Why
had she allowed herself to be caught in this trap? Why had she
struck? Was it not foolhardy to raise a hand against such a mammoth
system of iniquity? Over in Hester Street her poor mother, plying the
never-pausing needle, might be growing anxious--might be sending out to
find her. What new trouble was she bringing to her family? What new
touch of torture was she adding to the hard, sweated life? And her
father--what, when he came home from the sweatshop so tired that he was
ready to fling himself on the bed without undressing, what if she were
missing, and he had to go down and search the streets for her?

If only Joe Blaine had been notified! Could she depend on that Miss
Craig, who had melted away at the first approach of peril? Yet surely
there must be help! Did not the Woman's League keep a lawyer in the
court? Would he not be ready to defend her? That was a ray of hope! She
cheered up wonderfully under it. She began to feel that it was somehow
glorious to thus serve the cause she was sworn to serve. She even had a
dim hope--almost a fear--that her father had been sent for. She wanted
to see a familiar face, even though she were sure he would upbraid her
for bringing disgrace upon the family.

So passed long hours. Prisoners came in--prisoners went out. Laughter
rose--cries--mutterings; then came a long silence. Women yawned. Some
snuggled up on the bench, their heads in their neighbors' laps, and fell
fast asleep. Rhona became wofully tired--drooped where she sat--a
feeling of exhaustion dragging her down. The purple-faced woman beside
her leaned forward.

"Say, honey, put your head in my lap!"

She did so. She felt warmth, ease, a drowsy comfort. She fell fast
asleep....

"No! No!" she cried out, "it was _he_ struck _me_!"

She had a terrible desire to sob her heart out, and a queer sensation of
being tossed in mid-air. Then she gazed about in horror. She was on her
feet, had evidently been dragged up, and John, the policeman, held her
arm in a pinch that left its mark. Gasping, she was shoved along through
the doorway and into a scene of confusion.

They stood a few minutes in the judge's end of the court-room--a crowd
eddying about them. Rhona had a queer feeling in her head; the lights
blinded her; the noise seemed like the rush of waters in her ears. Then
she thought sharply:

"I must get myself together. This is the court. It will be all over in a
minute. Where's Mr. Joe? Wh